AU Drabble Challenge
by TacoMonsterr
Summary: Every day for the next thirty days, I'm going to be posting one drabble for an OTP of mine, Prussia and fem!UK. I hope you guys enjoy! :D
1. Day One: Fantasy

Hey! I'm thinking about trying this Drabble Challenge I found on tumblr, it sounded really fun and I'm bored! :D The pairing is Prussia X fem!UK C:

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Day One: Fantasy

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Alice sits in a tree, contemplating life as a sole being. It comes to her easily to be serious, as she is a good child, experienced and knowledgeable in anything, and is perfectly rounded as a scholar.

And yet, she is unhappy. Even as the sun slowly lowers, and she halts time to relish in the lovely, beautiful sunset, she hugs the trunk of the tree that supports the branch she is on, tears brimming in her eyes. She is unsurprised that she is crying, as after her were-dragon boyfriend Kiku died in the war, she has been crying rather often. She removes her glasses so they won't get wet. She has honestly became shell-shocked, unsurprised at everything.

Except for the man calling at her from below.

"Ma'am! Excuse me, can you tell me how to get to Westminster?" He calls, and she gasps, looking down, and a tear escapes, dripping onto his face. He blinks rapidly, now under her, and she marvels at his peculiar accent, and his pale skin and white hair, and his eyes, such a ruby color that they must be god-blessed. "…Ma'am? Why is such a young, beautiful maiden like yourself crying alone in a tree?"

"N-none of your business!" She retorts, rubbing her face furiously, ashamed at showing emotion in front of others, even if surprised. He gives a snarky little grin that makes her want to smack his face in, and begins climbing. "Go away! I don't need a knight in shining armor, you twit!" A loud, confident laugh echoes through her ears as he reaches her and swings up, teetering next to her before gaining his balance.

"Why should I? And technically, I am a soldier, not a knight."

"Because I'm sad!" She shouts. "How the bloody hell are you able to move?! I stopped time!" She exclaims. He shrugs.

"That's you? I've always been able to see time stop… It doesn't happen very often, only once in a blue moon…" He rambles on a little, before finally turning his attention back to the blonde woman, giving a large grin. "Must be the dwarf in me!"

She had heard that dwarves are immune to magic and its properties, but never this much, especially since he looks completely normal! Well, besides the peculiar eye color…

"So what are you, then? Some sort of were-being? With such a strange eye color, surely you have some sort of properties-"

"Nah, I was just born this way, although I am a mix of completely awesome traits from my family. Mom said that it was an old genetics curse called 'albinism', which just means that your cells don't produce enough of something to give it normal coloring. I didn't pay attention to what she said…" he trails off, staring at Alice. "What about you? Given the fact that you have the ability to stop time, plus your eyes are that gorgeous color of green, what kind a magician are you?"

Alice blushes heavily at the compliment, but keeps her stature. "I am a high class, well trained and taught black mage." The man sucks in a breath, giving a low whistle.

"Like, you do all the bad stuff? Like cause plagues and all that noise?" He asks, although not through disbelief or shame, but with more of a curiosity and excitement.

"Why most certainly not!" She replies tartly, turning to face forward stubbornly. "Us black magi are just… controllers of the dark arts. Black magic, voodoo, ghosts- all of that rubbish. We do not cause anything bad, although we have the power to. It's against the rules to cause trouble."

"And I'm guessing you to follow rules often?" He smirks, giving a chuckle.

"Of course! People could get hurt if I didn't!"

"But where's the fun in that? Mischief is always awesome, like myself~" He protests, and she shakes her head.

"The type of things I do, just being a part of the small amount of those who have mastered black magic, is enough thrill and adventure for me for a lifetime or two." Although she says it with such precision and clarity, something in her eyes makes him continue.

"… But that's not true, is it? You want to do more." He states it simply, and she gasps widening her eyes.

"Why, I never-"

"That's why you're out stopping time and bawling your eyes out on a tree, isn't it? You are pleased in yourself, and what you have done, and who you have become; but it's not enough. You want to explore, see the world, meet new people, experience more with your own eyes." She stares at him, appalled at how almost right he was.

"W-well… Partially true, although you shouldn't judge people by what you know about them." She answers.

"Oh, really?" He asks, turning towards her once more, a cunning glint in his eyes. "What did I miss, then?" She closes her eyes, and soon, she's in a faraway memory, sitting on a tree like this, with her boyfriend next to her, and he's worried about what she'll think, when at the full moon, Kiku turns into a dragon. She gives him reassuring kisses and snuggles with him, and when he turns, she's completely awestruck, the long, luxurious Asian dragon hissing at her, spotted milky white and as black as death, eyes round coals, staring into her. He wraps around her, and off they go, into the night.

"You're crying again, miss." Alice is knocked back into reality, wiping her eyes once more.

"Sorry. You missed the fact that my family and boyfriend were killed in the war." She refuses to look at him, refuses to see the apologetic gaze, the pity and sadness that she sees in everyone's eyes these days, the expression that just makes her want to shut herself up in her old family home, and curl under multiple blankets and have a grand sob.

"What division was your boyfriend in?" The man asks curiously, and she whips around to look at him finally, to see everything but apology and sorrow on his face. In fact, there's interest and friendliness coated on his grin. Completely bewildered, she replies.

"H-he was in the moonlight division…"

"That's so awesome! So was my brother! What did your boyfriend transform into, if you don't mind me asking?" He questions.

"He… He was an Asian dragon…" She stares into the sun, feeling lightheaded. She turns to see his face, wonder in his eyes, a large, lopsided grin on his features. She can see the dotted freckles on his face, only a shade darker than his actual skin. And his eyes, shining like fresh apples, or heated lava, or something equally as red, like tomatoes or cherries… She feels her heart open, and soon she's telling him everything, in this moment between day and night.

She tells him about how she has lived in Westminster since she was born, having a mother, father, and three siblings, who all picked on her and made fun of her hair. He asked about the hair, and she replied that she had wild, curly, ferocious hair before she channeled the static into magic. She says that she was seven when she started learning about magic from a boy at school, Lukas, who was her best friend before his family relocated. She said that she began to learn it privately, and when her family found out she was already on her way to a prestigious magic school. There was hell to pay when she returned four years later, hair flat and eyes electric as she told her family exactly how she wished to be treated.

Things in the house were much smoother after that. She went back to regular school, and made more friends, and things were seemingly perfect, until the Greatwood War started, on the east side. Her father went out as a spy, and her three brothers went into war. Her and her mother stayed at home, until the news that her father was assassinated, and the eldest brother was shot down in his plane, and the other two got ripped apart by bears. Her mother killed herself the next week, leaving a note for Alice, saying 'you should join us'. But by then, Alice had Kiku, and she never really liked her family anyways.

When the government of Westminster began calling for magicians and were-beings to join in the war, Kiku was deployed and ordered to go. Alice wanted to go as well, just to be with Kiku, but she was still eighteen, and you needed to be twenty to fight, as Kiku was. They called and wrote to each other for nearly two months, as he met more people and explored without her while on business. When she got the message from the general about his death, she cried for a week, then continued on with her schooling. She perfected her magic, and was ready to fight to her death in the war. It's been ten years, and she's now twenty-eight.

"… I plan on signing up tomorrow, just to get it done and over with." She finishes, glancing up at his face. He looks serious and determined, for the first time in their conversation.

"You listen to me, do _not _join the war. It will take you in, rough you up, twist your insides, and spit them back out." He whispers, nearing closer to her.

"But-"

"Don't even _think_ about a rebuttal. I know you feel the need to avenge your family and your boyfriend's death, but this is _not_ the way to do it! You don't need to at all!"

"I have been training for this for _most of my life_. You can't just tell me that- that it was for _nothing!_" She replies angrily.

"… It wasn't for nothing. It's something you love to do, right?"

"Well, yes." She stammers. He takes her hands, eyes glowing.

"You don't need to have a purpose to do what you love. If you like to do something, just go for it. Fuck everything else."

"Wow, such a poet." She scoffs, but gives a small giggle. He grins again at her, winking slightly.

They continue chatting, this time about the man, whose name is Gilbert. His younger brother is a were-wolf, one of the first that went out to war, and when he came back, he was mean and serious and it was such a complete personality swap that Gilbert couldn't deal with it, and packed his things up and left. He shows Alice a picture of them together, though they're both younger, and the brother has blonde hair and blue eyes.

"I bet if I wasn't an albino, I'd look like him." He comments, before flipping the wallet shut and sliding it back into his backpack. He explains how he was immediately drawn into the war from his town of Germane, and after a few months he ran off, and has been a drifter since then. He tells her of Pari, Fran, and Lond, Unite, both cities not far from Westminster. He says he's been as far as Pain, Russ, and even boarded a boat over to Amer and Can.

"Wow, that is so… so… Simply extravagant!" She exclaims in awe. "You've been everywhere!" He shrugs again, and they continue talking, about things from cooking to sports.

"Y'know," He starts, grabbing her hands tightly, "you could come with me."

"What?! No I can't!" Alice denies. "I have friends in Westminster, and I just can't leave! What would they think?"

"They wouldn't." He explains. "And even if they did, fuck them, y'know? You don't need them, Alice! You need to do what you want to do, and if you want to travel the world, then so be it! I'll be your guide!" She looks into his eyes, truthful and red and caring. They widen a little at the sight of Alice's wonderfully green eyes, and he quickly leans in, planting a rough kiss on her soft lips. She gasps, and when he pulls away and begins muttering an apology, she grabs his collar, pulling him forward to kiss him back.

They stay like that for a few moments, and by the time they're done, the sun has finally continued its voyage downwards, the full moons revealing themselves, shining like new stars.


	2. Day Two: High School

Here you go! It's the next one!

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Day Two: High School

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_'Take a deep breath, Gil'_, Gilbert thinks to himself, trudging slowly to the new school. He's a senior, and one of the most inadequate ones known on the face of mankind. He knows. He's heard it all before. First from his parents since the day he was born, both of them shoving him into church the moment he was old enough to walk. They're superstitious bible-thumpers, and with a kid who's as pale as a dead body, with hair as white as milk and blood red eyes, they had a right to be afraid.

When he got to preschool, kids didn't want to play with him. He gained the nickname _'Jack Frost'_, after the famous lore character that caused winter and cold temperatures. With a name like that, how was he _not_ expected to play the part? He became fussy, cold, angry, and a bit of a brat. When elementary and middle school rolled around, he was a bad kid, with a delinquent streak and a knack for getting in trouble. He rarely talked, but when he did, there would be hell to pay, as the cusswords and truthful slurs rolled off of his tongue with an unmistakable German accent.

His parents hated him, and spent their time trying to get Gilberts' younger brother, Ludwig, to stay off of the path his brother took. Gilbert had to admit, their efforts were good-natured, and the kid was definitely never turning down the path his wreck of a brother traveled through. Ludwig had plenty of friends, and they all would play soccer together, and study together, and even now, after they moved, he has already became the best of buds with the weird kid next door who would much rather stay inside and cook and sleep than play soccer, but his brother didn't mind at all.

When Gilbert reached high school, he was hit with the cold shock of reality; kids are a lot crueler than he is. They yelled at him, called him names, beat him down until he was a shell of what he originally was, quiet for a different reason. He found tranquility and happiness in video games, dismissing the world around him for the one on the screen. The kids began ignoring him around the time he began wearing hoods and sunglasses to school, making him feel almost normal. He continued with his life, and got a shabby car, much to his parents protests. They still hate him. He knows.

They moved over the summer, and now live close enough to the high school so that he doesn't have to waste gas to drive. And it is on this day, in the heat of the first week of September, he steps onto school grounds, pulling his hood farther over his hair. He moves to get his schedule from the office, and when they ask him to remove the hood and shades, he almost begs.

"Please… The kids at school do not _need_ to see me; I don't want to be seen." He explains quickly. The secretary shakes her head.

"Sir, I refuse to give you your schedule until you remove your sweater and sunglasses to confirm you are Gilbert Beilschmidt." He sighs.

"Can I wear them if I agree to show you I am who I say I am?"

"If you really insist, although I think you'll be fine with… out…" Her speech slows as he pushes back the hood and removes the shades. He glares at her with bright red eyes.

"Now, can I have my schedule, _please?_" He spits the words out at her, and she wordlessly complies. Without another word, he replaces the glasses and hood, slinking out the door.

His first class was _'Applied Math'_. Kids stared. One tried to talk to him, but he gave the smallest shake of his head that made the kid shut up real quick. The teacher stared at him, and wanted to tell him to remove the facial coverings, but held her tongue.

The next class was _'Physical Education'_. He couldn't get away with the sunglasses, and it was too hot outside for the sweater, and by the time he was out of the stupid baseball tournament, there was whispering everywhere around him.

Third period – English – was hell. Spitballs, kicks, crude names- all on the first day. He tried to not pay attention to them.

Fourth period is the period he is about to enter currently. It's right before lunch, right before he can go and have some peace and quiet, away from these assholes. He's running a little late, not being able to find the classroom mainly because it is outdoors, in a greenhouse. He looks at his schedule, squinting slightly at the '_Horticulture Sciences'_ typed in all caps, followed by the teachers' name, and the room number. With a deep breath, he enters.

Students are all chatting easily. Someone looks over, then does a double-take.

"Hey, everyone! We have the albino kid in our class!" He shouts in mock joy. Some cheer, some go silent, some remain silent; everyone notices and stares at Gilbert. He becomes a little flushed, a little slack-jawed, and quickly finds a working spot. Most are taken, or are with people. In fact, each small table has kids around them, and only one table is almost empty; one girl sits on a stool, quietly reading. He reluctantly joins her. One of the perks of sunglasses is getting to stare at others when they don't know it, so he takes these few seconds to marvel at her.

She has dark blonde hair, straighter than a board and in a ponytail on the back of her head. A small amount of choppy bangs frame her face, and she's small and bony. Delicate. He'd note what color her eyes are, but he can't see them, due to the positions they are both in, and the fact that she's wearing large, round glasses.

Quietly, slowly, she raises a hand, middle finger pushing the aforementioned glasses up on her nose.

The teacher finally enters, a balding, skinny man with a funny looking mustache, and class begins.

The others throw things at Gilbert, and he ignores it, gritting his teeth as he holds back his instinct to punch them in the face so hard that they shit their tongue out. The girl keeps her head in her book, not answering questions, not paying attention _at all_. Gilbert tries to listen to the professor, but he drains the voice out as he stares at the cute girl. If she feels his gaze, she ignores it.

Gilbert sits for nearly an hour, waiting for the bell to ring. When it finally does, he jumps up, ready to get out, yet wanting to talk to the girl. He walks slowly, waiting for the others to leave, before he finally looks back at the room, jumping in surprise as he sees the girl behind him. Her eyes are a beautiful lime green, framed by massive clumps of lashes and dark circles. She doesn't sleep much.

"Are you going to move, or what, new kid?" She asks. In the simple phrase, he notices a few things. For one, she has braces that are outlined in a dark blue. She has a small yet intimidating British accent. She called him _'new kid' _rather than _'albino'_ or _'freak'_.

"I-I… Sorry, miss." Gilbert grumbles, moving forwards.

"Say, you have a German accent, correct?" She continues. _Why is she talking to me?_ He nods.

"Yeah..."

"Hm. Do you come from Germany? Are you an exchange student?"

"No… My parents do, we speak German mostly in our household, although my brother and I had to learn English, along with our parents." _Why am I answering her?_ She nods simply, and continues walking. Gilbert stares in awe. Her walking slows, then completely halts.

"Would you give me the pleasure of sitting with me today at lunch?" She requests. Although she is not facing him, he knows the question is meant for him. "I mean, because you are new, and because of your… appearance, I suppose you don't have anyone to sit with today?"

"Yeah, I have no one to sit with, ya caught me." Gilbert responds. She is silent at first, before giving a small laugh. It rattles, and twists around like fumes in a perfume parlor. She turns around.

"Please accompany myself to lunch."

"Alright." At his answer, she grins, showing a mouth full of metal. They walk into the school, gaining food from the cafeteria – and stares from the other students – as the girl leads Gilbert outside, to sit on the grass of the football field.

"What's your name?" Gilbert blurts, before mentally smacking himself. He doesn't _talk_ to strangers, he doesn't talk to _anyone_; what is he _doing?_

"Alice." She replies shortly, taking a mouthful of noodles.

"I'm Gilbert." He mentions. She nods.

"I know."

"How?"

"Well, I listened to this simply marvelous thing called roll call…" He nearly smacks himself in the face.

"Of course… Sorry, the sun's getting to me or something." He lies. She raises an eyebrow.

"If it's getting to you, then why not take your jacket off? It is a wonderful day." She asks. He shakes his head almost immediately.

"No one should see me. I'm a disgrace to mankind. I know, I've heard it all before."

"How could you possibly be a disgrace to mankind?" She laughs, astounded. "You're such a nice fellow, I'm surprised others would think different!" He takes this in, soaks it up like a flower to sunlight. _Me? Nice?_

"I am not nice. I'm mean and cold." He recalls his childhood, some of the supervisors accidentally calling him _'Jack'_, before gasping and covering their mouths in shock and shame at participating in the childish game.

Gilbert feels something touch his face, and his eyes snap open, taking in Alice, whose hand is feeling his face.

"Well, you're pretty warm to me, Gilbert." She comments, and before he can reply, before he can move away; his shades are off, and Alice is staring in awe, gasping at the sight before her. He turns away, turning red at the attention.

"Go on, say it." He insists.

"Say what?" She asks, and he scoffs. As if she doesn't know.

"Say how weird I look. Say I look dumb and stupid. Tell me about how my eyes are the color of blood, and I was born to be a psychopath." She stares at him with wide eyes, before spluttering out hicks and guffaws.

"W-weird?" She wheezes. "I would say they're more of a cherry color… They're beautiful!" It's Gilberts' turn to laugh, and he bellows loudly.

"Good one, Alice."

"No! Gilbert, I wasn't kidding!" She insists, scooting closer again, reaching out and touching his smooth features. "Be happy. You don't have blemishes, you have straight teeth, and you don't need glasses." Food forgotten, Alice rips off the hood, revealing a mop of straight white hair, tousled and tangled. She sticks a hand into it. "Not to mention your _hair!_ I would _kill _to have such soft hair! Here, feel mine." She orders, pulling her ponytail around, giving him the tied up strands of brittle, straight locks. "See? My hair is rough and unable to do anything but be straight."

"You're such a girl. Fucking with your hair isn't everything. Who cares about looks these days, y'know?"

"Then why do you insist on hiding your appearance from everyone, if no one cares about looks?" She persuades. She pulls out her phone, and quickly takes a picture of Gilbert.

"Hey, you better delete that-"

"Hush up, I will. But look, you look great!" She shoves the picture into his face, and he squints, before shaking his head.

"That's not me. I've seen myself in the mirror; I don't look anything like that."

"That's because you're only seeing your flaws, Gil. You need to look at your positive attributes; and you have a lot of them. In fact, I can't see one flaw about you."

"You're lying." He answers immediately. "There has to be one thing you don't like about me, _something._"

"Well," She says slowly, "Your feet _really_ stink. Put your sneakers back on." He chuckles a little, before looking her in the eyes.

"You… Really think I'm good?" She gives Gilbert a small smile.

"You're lovely, Gilbert. Stop worrying."

Gilbert has Spanish, and he removes his hood. It's a start, after all.

After his last period, History, he moves to his locker to grab his needed things. Almost immediately after he began walking down the hall, a large, tanned body shoves him into a set of lockers. Gilbert looks up into sky blue eyes, and blonde hair and a large, toothy smile.

"Welcome to the school, _Freak._" The guy starts. "My name is Alfred, and I hope that you _stay away _from Alice. Nerd girl is _mine_, and _mine only_." He informs. Gilbert raises an eyebrow.

"Oh, really? I didn't know that American trash like yourself had rights to have others as property." Gilbert blurts, unable to hold back his anger. "Alice can do whatever the _fuck _she wants to do. You don't need to bully others just because you want her to yourself."

"Why, you little _prick_, I aught' a-" He raises and arm, and Gilbert tenses, waiting for the impact, and he hears it, but doesn't feel it. Alice has arrived, and nailed the asshole straight in the face.

"What a bloody wanker, so _impolite_ to new students." She sighs, looking up at Gilbert with a grin. "I've never fancied this tosser. He had it coming to him." He gives her a grin, and then laughs.

"Do you wanna come over and play some video games?" He asks. She laughs.

"I thought you would never ask."


	3. Day Three: 50's

Here's the next one! Funny, I really want to continue it... You might see more of it in the future :P

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Day Three: 50's

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Miss Kirkland finally enters the room, and class begins.

"Hello students!" She greets loudly, trying to be heard in the small classroom over the loud kids. "My name is Miss Kirkland, but you can call me Miss K, if you would like." Her British accent revolves around the room, and most of the girls go silent, except for one in a cherry red poodle skirt and revealing black top, who continues to talk to one of the boys. The rest of the boys do quiet down, but only to whispers, sending Miss Kirkland glances and grins. To them, their new teacher is hot; with her formal pencil skirt and heels, accentuating her smooth, milky legs, and green silk top that is the exact color of her eyes, which are hidden behind a pair of wire glasses, and her hair, honey blonde, set back in a beehive bun. Sure, she isn't much for bust, but they don't care in the slightest.

Only one student keeps his gaze from her. A male in the back, who she finds rather peculiar, with white hair and pale skin. He wears a leather jacket, and is turned away from his teacher, talking to the girl in the revealing shirt. She scans the seating chart, and speaks up once more.

"Mister Beilschmidt, please stop conversing with Miss Hedervary, if you may. I wish to take roll." She explains, and he turns, flashing a polite grin, before finally facing forward, his red eyes settling on her. A smirk stays on his face as her eyes widen slightly at his own, but she clears her throat, and starts roll. Afterwards, she explains that she wishes to just get their English books and read through the prologue today, and escorts them to the library.

They're only there for ten minutes, when a bookcase begins teetering, and finally collapses, scattering gasping students and faculty. When the dust dissipates, Mister Beilschmidt stands, a flustered and unruly Miss Peters standing across from him, the ribbon in her hair missing and her red lipstick smeared. A large hickey is forming on her neck, and she quickly hides it under her small mass of blonde hair, green eyes cast downward. The missing ribbon is in Mister Beilschmidt's hands. Although he not only displayed affection to another in public, but he also knocked over an entire bookcase, his eyes show no regret. Miss Peters tilts her feet inwards, clenching the fabric of her school dress in her hands tightly.

"Mister Beilschmidt, what were you doing with Miss Peters?" Miss Kirkland asks accusingly. He shrugs, giving another grin.

"I was kissing her, ma'am, and things got a little out of hand." He explains, no blush of embarrassment or shame coating his pale face. Miss Peter's face turns beet red, and she looks to the ground, closing her eyes tightly.

"Both of you receive detention, for dismantling school property, and for a Public Display of Affection," the English teacher decides, and continues on. "But because we can't afford any… Mishaps, during detention, Mister Beilschmidt shall be in my room, and Miss Peters in Mister Jones's room down the hall. I'll talk to him and make sure it's alright." She turns, and begins to walk to order those who have their books to follow her back to class, before she faces the two once again. "Oh, and I expect the bookshelf upright and the books put back by the time I return." She flips around again, and is gone, leaving Mister Beilschmidt shrugging and Miss Peters blushing.

When she returns fifteen minutes later, she finds the duo setting the books back on the shelves with help from a few librarians.

"…And then I said, 'if you don't like the way I live, then I'll just leave!" Mister Beilschmidt finishes a seemingly interesting story, the elder bookkeepers chuckling.

"My, Gilbert, you do have such wonderful story telling abilities; You should become a writer!" One insists, and he shrugs, running a hand through his slicked back white hair.

"I would, but, y'know, it ain't a very exciting living, for such a person like me." His voice is German, and he reaches up, sliding a large novel into place with ease. "I would much rather be a racer. I have my boys, and a car that goes faster than a bat outta hell-" His voice lowers, smirking coyly. "I could take you ladies for a ride sometime, if you'd like~" The librarians go into cahoots, and Miss Peters laughs a little too. "What'd you think, Laura?" He says to her, sending the blonde a wink. "You wanna come out one night with me and these chicks?" Miss Peters stammers, blushing again, but finally nods wordlessly.

"Ah, good." Miss Kirkland interrupts. "Lovely to see you two setting these up once again." She walks forward, and the last book is set, Mister Beilschmidt and Miss Peters walking forward. Miss Kirkland addresses the two librarians. "Thank you, Mona, Madeline." The two ladies nod, and take their spots behind the desk once more. Miss Kirkland guides the two last students out, and scolds them while walking to the classroom.

"Miss K," Mister Beilschmidt finally interjects, "you don't need to talk to us about 'proper etiquette'. We won't do it again, I promise." Miss Peters remains silent. "We're dating, see, and she's just so pretty; she deserves some lovin', at least sometime throughout the day."

"Do it after school, then, Mister Beilschmidt. I will not tolerate it on school grounds, and neither will other teachers. If you get caught, other teachers might do worse things than just one day of detention. They could give you _weeks_ of detention, _expulsion_, even phone your _parents_- it would all be out of my hands." Mister Beilschmidt nods.

"Alright, ma'am. We won't do it on property again."

The rest of the class time goes smoothly, as do the rest of Miss Kirkland's classes. She talks to Mister Jones during lunch, and he insists she call him Alfred, and that he's fine with watching Miss Peters for her. She's thankful for his politeness, and he asks her out for dinner, which she easily complies to.

When the end of the day rolls around, she's sitting alone at her desk, waiting patiently for Mister Beilschmidt to make his grand appearance.

He finally arrives, twenty minutes after school gets out.

"Where have you been?" She asks, wrinkling her nose.

"Sorry, Miss K. I had to tell the basketball coach that I wasn't going to be at practice today. I hope you don't mind I told him that I'm helping the new teacher get situated. I can't risk getting kicked off the team, that's the only thing keeping me at home these days." He explains, setting his backpack down, kicking his black Converse up onto the desk. She glares at the shoes, before sighing.

"I guess that is acceptable. Be happy that I'm loose on punishments." She informs, and he nods.

"Thanks, teach. You're pretty swell, for a strict, impatient lady." She's about to spit out a comeback, before she sighs, accepting the words with silence.

"So," Mister Beilschmidt starts after a few moments, "What do you like to do in your spare time?" Miss Kirkland is a little taken back by the easygoing question.

"I personally like to read and sew." She answers hesitantly. "What about you?"

"I like racing, and working on my car. And smoking. God, I would _kill_ for a cigarette right now." He says simply.

"Oh. What kind of car do you have?" She asks, unsure of why she's continuing the conversation.

"A classy, old school Ford Model T. Sleek red, she's a true beauty." He sighs in happiness. "What about you? What kind a ride you got?"

"Oh… I have a Crosley Super Sport. It's blue." She informs. He grins.

"Now _that's_ a car. Those are magnificent bunches of metal." He says wistfully. She blushes a little, but shoves her face into her work, secretly pleased at the compliment.

"Y-yeah, I liked it when I saw it at the dealer. I had the money to get it, and, well, got it." She explains. He nods.

"What's your favorite book?"

"Well, I really like Agatha Christie novels."

"Really? I've never heard of her."

"That's absurd! She's one of the greatest mystery novel writers of our time!" Miss Kirkland exclaims. He shrugs.

"Maybe you could get me to read her stories sometime." He says.

"Oh, I will. You'd love them, I feel it."

"Alright, Miss K. Say, Miss K?"

"Yes?"

"You aren't married?"

"No, I'm fresh out of college. I don't feel like I need to get married right away." She leaves out how she's going on a date with Mister Jones at the end of the week.

"Why not? Love is a wonderful thing, Miss."

"I feel I'm too young for it. I'm only twenty-three."

"I'm eighteen and I'm engaged." He informs. Her head perks. "Well, not yet, but Laura and I are getting hitched after we graduate."

"Oh. I hope you two are happy." She says, feeling a little defeated.

"Well, I dunno. We've been fighting often these days. She wants me to go to college, get a good job, like my brother – he's a freshman, already insisting on going to school to become a pilot – and I just don't feel like my life is here, in school. I hate school. The teachers are rude, the work is rough, and I think that we should get our jobs based on what we like to do, rather than what we are taught to do." She blinks, appalled.

"Yes…" She whispers. "Yes, exactly! People should be allowed to do what they wish with their life, and not anything forced upon them!" He nods encouragingly.

"What did you want to be, Miss K?"

"… You'll think it's silly…" She mutters, flustered.

"I'll tell you mine, and I can be sure that your dream job isn't as crazy as mine."

"… I've always wanted to be movie producer." She whispers quietly, and when she doesn't hear uproarious laughter, she looks at Mister Beilschmidt, who's looking at her in wonder.

"That would be amazing! I bet you could come up with really neat plots!" He insists, and she shakes her head, giggling.

"Oh, never. I would be a disappointment to the movie culture."

"Hey, at least you don't want to be in the circus." He adds, and her laughter halts, staring at her student curiously.

"What do you mean?"

"I want to be in the circus. A trapeze artist." He reveals. "I have great balance, I love heights, and I just get really excited and happy at the thought of flying through the air, spinning and flipping…"

"That would be exciting, indeed."

They talk the entire time, homework forgotten by Gilbert, tests that need grading forgotten by Miss Kirkland. When five o'clock finally comes, Gilbert stands, pushing his hair back into its perfect, greased do.

"It's been a pleasure, Miss K." He says finally.

"You too, Mister Beilschmidt."

"Call me Gilbert, if that's alright."

"If you insist, Gilbert." The name sounds funny, yet acceptable on her lips. He gives her a cheeky smile.

"I'm racing tomorrow at the drained canal over uptown. You can come, if you wanna."

"I'm a teacher." She reminds, astounded. He shrugs, grinning.

"You seem like the type to be invigorated by racing."

"…I'll see what I can do."

"See you tomorrow, Miss K."

"Goodbye, Gilbert."

When he walks out, Miss Peters is waiting for him. He plants a small kiss on her forehead, giving Miss Kirkland a wink over his shoulder as they walk away.

Miss Kirkland shuts the door to her classroom, inexplicably jittery and joyful at the same time from the invitation.


	4. Day Four: Superhero

Here's the one for today! Sorry it's later than usual, but it's longer too! uwu

and it hurts this one hurts

* * *

Day Four: Superhero

* * *

Alfred sits on the barstool, stirring his drink quietly. He's usually loud, and idiotic yet lovable in the pub, but today he is silent, drawing attention from his traditional bartender, Antonio.

"Alfred, what is wrong? You are unusually quiet today, mi amigo." The man asks easily, Spanish accent rolling off his tongue smoothly. Even though he's lived in Las Vegas for nearly ten years – since he was a sophomore in high school – his accent that came straight from Spain has never faltered, and now he's twenty-six, polishing a glass worriedly for his friend. The blonde shrugs.

"I dunno dude, I just feel… Weird. I was bit by a spider last night in an alley, have I told you about it yet?" The American asks, glancing at the Spaniard questioningly. The tan man nods, rubbing his hair embarrassingly.

"Si, amigo. Multiple times." Antonio nods, giving a small bark of laughter. Alfred chugs the rest of his drink, asking for another glass of bourbon.

"Yeah… And since the bite happened, I've felt different. I feel stronger, like I could bend a car with my bare hands, y'know? And not only that, but I think that maybe I have… Powers, or some shit. I dunno 'bout you, but I think this is going to be a big difference to my way of life, or whatever." He explains slowly, voice slurring a smidge. "I just hope I don't accidentally kill someone or something, yo."

"Yeah, Alfred. Maybe you should sleep on it." Antonio says quickly, trying to get his friends mind off of the silly idea, although… Having a friend with superpowers would be really impresionante…

"Oh, and this chick, Anya or something, has been hitting on me at the bowling alley…" And the thought is gone, drifting through the air like a discarded newspaper with '_Millions stolen from the International Bank in Manhattan!_' as a headline.

* * *

Alice comes home to her small flat, shutting the door with a sigh as she drops her groceries on the counter of her kitchenette, dusting her hand through her dark blonde bangs, adjusting her glasses before getting to work, placing all of the different soup can's away, the apples into a large display bowl, and the bread in its little bread holder. When the counter is cleared, she finds a note she missed when she set the bags down.

'_Meine liebe, süße Alice_', it reads on the front of the envelope, and she growls irritatingly at the note immediately; why can't Gilbert tell her he's stopping by? He is definitely overusing the apartment key she gave him. Then again, it's better than the alternative of having to replace her lock almost every day…

She opens the envelope.

'_Alice, I'm leaving you this note to let you know I won't be visiting for five days. I have urgent matters to attend to, and hope you understand. If you want to call me for anything, use this number between the times of six and eight o'clock at night: XXX-XXX-XXXX_

_ ~ Gilbert_'

She sighs. Her boyfriend – can she even call him that? – is always so formal in his letters, although he is an arrogant asshole in real life.

That's one of the reasons she likes him. He gives her meaningful topics to debate over, and loves the perks of dating him, like the fact that she was able to quit her horrible job as a waitress and work with Gilbert as his 'Partner-In-Crime', so to speak. Not to mention she gets half the profit for doing her job correctly.

She sits quietly onto the sofa, bringing the note to her nose. _Hell, it smells like him_. Her phone vibrates in her pocket, and she takes it out, seeing an unidentified number.

'_Don't sniff my note, Alice._' A small grin forms, and a giggle escapes her lips.

"Sorry, Gilbert." She says aloud, distinct British accent echoing through the sitting room. Minutes later, she gets another text.

'_It's okay, liebe._'

Oh, how she loves her German.

* * *

Gilbert, true to his word, is dealing with important matters. He sits across from one of his long-time business partners, Antonio.

"It's true, Gilbert! He was telling me the entire time he was at the bar, three weeks ago!"

"That's where the spider went?"

"Si! It bit him!" Antonio exclaims, before dropping his voice to a whisper. "He's even shown me his powers. He has inhuman strength, speed, and he can fly!"

"Well, we'll have to take care of that, won't we?" Gilbert says, grinning maliciously. Antonio nods obediently.

"Will I have to get Francis on the job?" Antonio asks, referring to the completion to their trio, a romantic Frenchman who has his way of making anyone attracted to him.

"No, no. Nothing like that. I have someone in mind I could use of assistance…"

* * *

"So, how was the trip?" Alice asks eagerly, straddling Gilbert's lap. He grins, giving her a kiss before sitting up, grabbing something out of his suitcase, Alice still on his lap. He hands her the manila envelope, large and intimidating yet thrilling.

"We have a new client."

"Ooh, where at?"

"Las Vegas, Nevada." He informs. She grins.

"Well, I do love gambling…" Her green eyes shine something wonderful, causing the albino man to kiss her again.

"Try and learn as much as you can about him. Your goal is also stored in the portfolio." He explains. She sets it down on the bed stand next to her, turning back to her boyfriend, green eyes mixing with red. She grins.

"I have a different goal right now." She purrs, as she attacks.

* * *

Alice straightens her black dress once more, turning to Gilbert.

"Name?" He quizzes her.

"Mona Bonnefoy." Her response is immediate. Gilbert is pleased that she looks so much like Francis's younger sister, mainly because he can use her identity as she is dead.

"Age?"

"Twenty-two."

"Hobbies?"

"Sports, comic books, and archeology."

"Perfect, you'll do fine." He reassures, giving her a small peck. "You have one month to get him to go to Antonio's home. He is at the bar nearly every night, and arrives at around seven-"

"-And leaves at midnight, I know." She laughs, nuzzling Gilbert. "I did read the manuscript."

"I'm just making sure, that's all, liebe. This is one of your longest assignments so far, after all." She grins, pushing up to give him a quick kiss, before slipping on her heels.

"Trust me; I am capable of seducing a man in one month."

* * *

Alfred sits again at the bar, same place he does every day. He talks wildly with Antonio, both of them laughing at jokes and funny stories. Alfred tells him a few tales of his new 'hobby'; saving those in need.

"I've always wanted to be a hero, it's kind of a dream come true to have these abilities now!"

"Are you sure it isn't coincidence, amigo? Shouldn't you think this through more carefully?" Antonio questions worriedly. "With every héroe, there is an equally powerful villano."

"Don't worry about me, it's not that serious!" Alfred insists, dropping his voice to a rumble. "At least, not _yet_."

At seven-thirty, a woman sits beside him.

"I'll have a glass of sherry, please." She orders, paying no mind to Alfred next to her. He's taken back by her beauty; although most would find her plain, or ordinary, something about her pops out to him. Maybe it's her long, dark blonde hair, sleek and straight; maybe her skin, smooth and pale, like an angel; maybe it's her eyes, a glowing, vibrant green, covered by glasses, much like the ones that cover Alfred's own blue eyes.

What ever it is, it certainly is swallowing Alfred whole.

"And I'll buy her drink, along with a bourbon for myself." He says immediately, and she turns to him, wide eyed. He gives what he believes to be a charming smile, although to 'Mona' the smile is more goofy and lopsided than anything. She smiles politely back.

"Thank you, sir. It seems those on this side of the country are much more polite than those in New York." This perks his interest.

"You live in New York?" He asks, completely and utterly charmed by her voice, thick with a British accent.

"Of course!" She explains. "It's such a wonderful, bustling city, anyone would have to be a fool to not love it there!"

"Why, I've never been." He responds, and soon she's telling him about the delightful crowds, the large culture, and the wonderful architecture that she has never seen before. Francis and his sister were from France, but moved to New York with their family. Alice herself and Gilbert both live in Manhattan.

"Wow! Someday, I would _love_ to go there…" He sighs dreamily. She grins. Hook, line, sinker.

They continue chatting happily, conversation going haywire the drunker Alfred gets. Alice has limited herself to one or two sherries, and that's all she has, Alfred not paying attention to how much she drinks. She pretends to stay as charmed and delighted by him as he obviously is by her, and when midnight rings throughout the bar, she gives him her number, and gives him a small kiss, before exiting the pub to take off her heels and cuddle with her boyfriend.

* * *

It takes twelve hours for Alfred to call Alice. He wanted to call her the moment she left, but bit the feeling back, knowing that was way too clingy to be cool. He didn't sleep that night, and when his alarm clock rang for him to get to work, he almost immediately picked up his phone, before deciding that yes, nine in the morning was too early. He didn't know her sleeping habits, and she could sleep in 'til later.

Little did he know, she was up at six, waiting patiently for the foolproof phone call that was to come. Her training made sure of it.

When he finally calls her while on his break at the bowling alley, she almost picks up instantly.

"Hello?" She answers melodically, and Alfred almost hangs up, to try and regain his nerve, but his pride wouldn't allow it. Alice becomes confused. "Hello? Is anyone there?"

"Hey!" Alfred blurts into the phone, before scrambling for what he wants to say, the words coming out jittery and nervous. "I-its, uh, Alfred. From last night? I called the right number, r-right?" Alice laughs sweetly, the giggle moving through the phone and into Alfred's ear, turning him into jelly.

"Oh, hello, Alfred. I see you used the phone number I gave you to good use~" She greets smoothly, curling her hair around her finger to get her seductive juices flowing, so she can properly address the man over the phone. "What ever brings you to call me?"

"I-I… Uh, I wanted to know if you wanted to get together, sometime, maybe." His words are messy and stuttered, and it brings a smile to Alice's lips.

"I would love to, dear." She can almost hear Alfred perk up at the affirmation.

"Really?" He squeaks, before clearing his throat. "Alright! How about… Come to Matthew's Bowling Alley, over on Parkview Way, okay?"

"Alright. See you soon, Alfred~"

"Bye!" He hangs up, and begins hitting himself on the head. 'Come to Matthew's Bowling Alley'? Was he serious? Girl's as sophisticated and British as Alice would hate the bowling alley! He didn't even give her a time, or anything! He didn't want her over on his shift! Before he can stop himself, he sends her a text, telling her to come over at about nine tonight.

She replies with an '_alright_', followed by a winky face.

Alfred is in a puddle of sap for nearly three hours afterwards.

* * *

Gilbert wakes up at two in the afternoon, to Alice trying to cook. The wafting smell of burnt cheese moves through the rented apartment for the time being, and he stumbles groggily out of the bedroom, rubbing a crimson eye and yawning.

"Good afternoon, Gilbert!" She calls cheerily, sending him a bright smile. He can hear a radio on, playing something or another. He nods.

"Guten tag…" He answers slowly, taking a seat at the dining table. She smiles again, and leans over to give him a small kiss on his forehead, before spinning back to the oven.

"Would you like anything?"

"Nein, liebe…" He replies before changing to English, thought finally entering his brain that she doesn't understand much German. "I'll make some cereal." She nods.

"I might have some too, there's a large chance of this not turning out…" She reminds absentmindedly, knowing her cooking isn't very good.

They both end up having a bowl of Lucky Charms.

"So, how is the client doing?" Gilbert asks curiously.

"Oh, he's doing fine. He asked me out for tonight, he told me to meet him at a bowling alley." Her nose wrinkles slightly, before she smiles a little. "I don't recall ever going bowling before, not even in Liverpool." Gilbert hastily swallows his jealousy – he always gets jealous when the clients ask his girlfriend out, although it's to be expected, and necessary in fact, for everything to go smoothly.

"Really? Do you have the needed clothes for that outing?" With the words, she winks and grins slyly.

"I have the clothes for _every_ occasion~"

* * *

Alice had to use a mapping system online in order to find the place. It's on the outskirts of town, and she knocks on the locked glass doors outside at eight-fifty that night.

It only takes a few moments for Alfred to answer, pushing one door open.

"Hey," He says breathlessly. She has to admit; there's a weird charm to him, hidden in his goofy, inexperienced demeanor. She smiles, answering with her own greeting, slipping through the door easily.

"The doors were locked from the outside." She notes, glancing curiously at the American. He shrugs, giving a grin.

"This place has always been easy to break into," He lies. He doesn't tell her that it's his brother's place, and he works here, and that he had nearly begged to close up shop for the night. He just hopes that she likes bad boys that 'broke into' bowling alleys.

He doesn't know that, although she does indeed have a thing for rule-breakers, she already knew that this is where he works, and that his brother owns the public area. She doesn't let him on to her knowledge. That would cause everything in the plan to come crashing down. She instead forces mock surprise onto her face.

"Oh, you mischievous man, you." She jokes, giggling. He takes her arm, and leads her to one open strip, the only one open out of the ten. She looks at him curiously, and he gives her a crooked grin.

"We're going to be late-night bowling." He explains. She nods, then blushes on command, looking down.

"I've never bowled before." She informs. His eyes widen, shocked.

"Man, you have been missing out! Bowling is awesome!" He insists. She looks up.

"Can you show me how?" She asks quietly, eyes begging. He easily complies.

"Alright, I'll show you an example first." He picks up a large red ball, and moves forward, quickly leaning forward and swinging his arm forward, releasing the ball straight into the gutters. He chuckles awkwardly.

"Alright, I'm not the best at this… But I'm just getting warmed up!" He concludes determinedly. She giggles a little.

"I get the idea of what you're supposed to do, at least." She says, the new knowledge stored in her mind. "But how do you execute what you plan on doing?" Alfred moves to a ball rack, picking up a purple ball with the number ten on it in silver.

"This ball weighs ten pounds," He explains, holding it out to her. "I'm sure you can handle it." She slowly picks up the moderately heavy ball, finding three holes on its surface. Alfred sees her confusion, and grabs her hand, fighting back a blush that wants to form on his face. "See, you put your fingers into the holes, your thumb in this one, middle finger in here… and ring finger right there. Perfect!" He praises as she grasps the ball with the holes. "Now come with me." He leads Alice to the straight of waxed wood, and stands behind her, taking her hands and leaning over. "Look," he says, failing to control his blush as he is so close to Alice, "you pull your arm back, and when it swings forward, you let go of it." He instructs. She nods slowly, and allows his hands to guide hers back, releasing her hold on the ball when it reaches the perfect velocity to spiral down the strip, knocking three pins over.

"Did I do well?" She asks hesitantly. He nods almost immediately.

"Better than I do, usually." He answers, giving a small whoop of exhilaration. She laughs and grins.

"Your turn, Alfred." They go back and forth easily, talking and bickering the entire time. Alice admits that she's having fun. Alfred leaves for a few minutes, and returns with a pizza and some soda, Alice thanking him with a hug, surprised at how famished she is. They eat and bowl and drink the pop, and by midnight, they're both delirious with positive feelings, and Alfred is almost sure that he loves her.

"Listen, Mona… There are some things you need to know about me." He says slowly after finishing a slice of pepperoni pizza. She glances at him curiously, and he continues. "I'm not… normal. I'm not like other people."

"Really?" She asks, playing dumb. "How so?" He swallows his nerves, and knows that no matter what he says, he has a feeling that she'll accept him.

"I have… _powers._" He informs quietly. Alice knows it's true already, but gasps in mock surprise.

"I don't _believe_ it!" She exclaims. "Prove it!" Alfred gulps nervously, and closes his eyes, imagining himself floating through the air. He hears a low whistle, and opens his eyes, looking down at Alice from where he is.

"See? I can fly!"

"Whoa!" She whispers in awe. He soars around, and stops, on the other side of the alley.

"Now watch."He insists. She trains her eyes on him, but she blinks, and he's gone.

"…Alfred?" She asks worriedly.

"What?" She jumps as he leans on her, nuzzling into her neck.

"Christ, Alfred! You scared me!" He grins.

"Sorry, Mona. I have another trick I can show you, but you have to follow me." He explains. She follows him out into the parking lot, up to her car. Without much of a breath, he's down, pulling the car above his head, lifting it up into the air. She widens her eyes. He laughs at her expression.

"Isn't it neat?"

"That's _incredible…_" She murmurs. Alfred sets down the car, and swoops down, picking up Alice in his arms. They soar up, her screaming and clutching to him tightly, not looking down.

"Don't you trust me?" He asks, hurt.

"Of course I do! I just… I'm afraid of heights…" She pushes her face into the crook of his neck, and hears his small chuckle through her cheek.

"Here, I'll set you down." When she hears his feet finally hit the ground, she opens her eyes, realizing how close she is to Alfred. A small blush tints his face, and his lips twitch upwards for a few moments, before realizing that she wants him to kiss her. He obliges quickly, cursing when his teeth accidentally knock against hers, but she pays no mind to his inexperience, pulling him closer. His hands go around her waist instinctively, and she squeezes his shirt between her hands, prodding his lips with her tongue, which he slowly opens, letting her explore his mouth. His tongue tries to move against hers, but it actually ends up just flopping out of the connection, out in the open air. She giggles, and pulls away.

"No, like this~" She instructs, and kisses him again. She takes the lead, Alfred cautiously following every step. If all goes to hell, at least she taught him how to kiss like a proper gentleman.

They talk a little more, before going their separate ways, one final kiss sealing their relationship as they drive in opposite directions, away from the bowling alley. While Alfred is savoring the flavor of pop and pizza and 'Mona' on his lips, Alice is calling Gilbert, informing him of every detail of the night, even the few kisses they shared.

* * *

They have their second date a few days later, and Alfred insists on being more polite and formal. Alice agrees immediately, and begins preparing herself. He said that he will pick her up, and she quickly said the address of Antonio's house, eagerly hanging up and preparing herself for the date. She decides on a mint green dress that goes to her knees and puffs out, with lace shoulders. She picks out some silver shoes with a small heel, and pulls her hair back into a low, loose bun, before giving a kiss to Gilbert and exiting the house, driving to Antonio's place.

Luckily, Antonio is already at work, and she has the place for herself.

Alfred arrives at the house, swallowing his nerves before knocking on the door, backing up to allow his date to come out quickly if she needs to.

She does, of course, not wanting Alfred to see the inside of the house any more than he should. Not yet.

"Hello, Alfred." She greets, eyes catching on his suit, complete with a comical tie and black leather loafers. She's happy that he tried being formal, and still notes on his peculiar charm that revolves around him.

"Hello, Mona." He replies, equally as charmed as his date. She looks simply extravagant, and it completely takes Alfred's breath away. Before he can make a fool of himself, he holds out an arm. "Shall we be off?"

"We shall." She replies with a coy smile.

The date is on the roof of a skyscraper. Alice refuses to look over the edge. There's a small table, with two chairs, and a white cloth over the table, decorated with a bottle of champagne in a bucket, two wine glasses, and a meal of burgers on the clean, white plates. Ketchup and fries are also on the menu, and although it's not a five-star meal – Alfred got the burgers from Red Robin – Alice is simply in awe, squeezing tightly onto Alfred's suit.

"_Ta-da_," He whispers, planting a chaste kiss on her cheek, before leaping forward, pulling out a chair. "I hope you're not allergic to onions or cheese or tomatoes or-"

"Alfred, it's _alright_. I'm not allergic to anything." She laughs, walking forward and taking a seat in the offered chair. He breathes a sigh of relief, pouring the champagne into the two flutes, moving to sit across from her. They're silent for a few moments, before Alfred jumps up, bumping the table with his knees. The table stays upright, thankfully, along with everything else.

"Oh, I almost forgot!" He shouts, running and jumping over the side of the building. She screams in surprise, before remembering that he can fly.

As soon as he's gone, he's back, holding a large bouquet of white lilies.

"Here," he says breathlessly. "For you." She giggles, and moves them from his hands, smelling the sweet aroma.

"I've always loved white lilies," she mentions. "Did you know that they mean modesty?"

"Yeah, actually." He says, rubbing his head. "You're a pretty modest gal, Mona. I thought you'd approve of them."

"Thank you, Alfred. I love them."

* * *

It takes three weeks for them to become close enough that Alice believes that he is ready. She tells Gilbert to begin preparing Antonio's house, and he gets to it almost immediately. She calls Alfred, telling him to meet her at her house. He approves instantly, and she begins preparing herself for what is to come.

* * *

Alfred knocks on the door, and when he hears a loud '_Come in!_' enters without a second thought. Alice sits in the living room, two flutes full of red wine on the coffee table. He grins in greeting, and she responds with her own.

"Another wine test, from your brother Francis?" He asks, and she nods, recalling how a week ago she had gotten some wine from Francis, saying that she needed it for the plan. Everything is part of the plan. He sits next to her, picking up the wine glass that was his. He turned to her, and she turned to him, lifting her own wine. If Alfred looked closer, he would notice that her wine is a tinge lighter than his.

"To life." He toasts. Alice smiles wanly.

"To life." She repeats, and their glasses clink together.

* * *

Alfred awakens, tied up to a chair. Something is covering his eyes, and he calls out a loud '_hello?_' before the blindfold is ripped off, revealing a brown haired, green eyed Antonio.

"Oh, Antonio! Thank God you found me! I thought I had been kidnapped or something…" Alfred sighs in relief, before looking at Antonio, noticing the sadness on his face as he remains silent. "…Antonio?"

"I'm not supposed to talk to you, mi amigo. It's la rules." Antonio explains. It's horrible; Antonio always gets attached to the victims, but Alfred is a new case; he knew Alfred before he became his enemy. Alfred's eyes darken.

"Rules? What rules? Where the hell _am_ I, Antonio?" Alfred asks worriedly. Antonio remains silent. "_Answer_ me, god damn it! _Antonio!_"

"My, le petit Americain is awake?" A voice reverberates from behind Alfred, and Alfred tries to look, but his head is held forward. The owner of the voice walks forward, chuckling at the American's attempts to move. "At least he is still able to succumb to body paralyzing drugs~" His shoulder-length blonde hair is pulled back in a ponytail, creamy blue eyes crossing the American's. "Bonjour, je m'appelle Francis Bonnefoy."

"Francis! Thank God,_ help_ me!" Alfred whimpers in disbelief. He tries to move his head, move his body, but only his eyes and mouth are capable of doing anything like moving. The Frenchman laughs.

"Oh, non. It seems you don't understand yet." Francis leans down in front of Alfred. "_Everyone is against you~_"

"What?!" Alfred nearly shouts. "What are you talking about!?"

"It's true, Alfred." The familiar voice hits his ears as Alice walks forward.

"Mona! Please, _help_ me!"

"No can do, Mister Jones." She sighs wistfully. "Oh, if only you wouldn't have been bitten by that spider… or told Antonio about your powers, at least~" She sighs again, sitting in a chair across from him, crossing her legs. "You wouldn't be here."

"It's about my _powers?!_ Why would they mean anything?!"

"Because," A new voice echoes, "when you were bit by that spider, you became our enemy." Gilbert steps forward, and Alfred grunts, trying to get out of the precautionary bindings. Shame he still can't move.

"Who are you?! Why am I here?! What are you going to do to me?!" He wails.

"Ooh, let's introduce ourselves. Antonio, how about you start?" Gilbert insists.

"My name _is_ Antonio Carriedo, and I _am_ from Spain. I just happen to be a part of this. I am what you could call a paloma; I gather information from all over the United States for this cause."

"I am Francis. I supply the drugs, and the alcohol for all our endeavors. A prop artist, so to speak~" Francis interjects.

"I'm Gilbert." The albino says. "I'm the leader. I am, undoubtedly, the main antagonist in your little story. When there are rumors of a person with superhuman abilities, I am set onto the job to successfully dispose of them at whatever cost."

"My name is Alice." Alice says, finally revealing her name. "Alice Kirkland. I'm British, and I am definitely not related to that _frog_ over there."

"Ouch, that hurts, mon petit ange~" Francis whines. Alice makes a promise to herself to punch him later.

"Anywho, I am the spy. When there is a male 'hero' in need of extermination, I get put on the job. Francis and I switch jobs, depending on the gender and-or the sexual orientation of the client."

"Mona…?"

"Mona was Francis's sister. She was killed in a car accident a while back." Alice explains.

"B-but… Alice, I love you! I don't care if you lied to me-"

Alice's chuckle is low and malicious. "Oh, it _always_ pains me when this part of the interrogation comes along… That was the plan, you know; to get you to love me. It was _always_ the plan. I didn't love you back. In fact, I'm in love with Gilbert." She sends a wink to Gilbert, causing bile to rise in Alfred's throat. "Oh, dear. I hope you understand."

"Let me go, this instant!" Alfred yells.

"Sorry, Alfred. We have to do our job. We can't have fairytales entering the real world, can we?" Alice asks, and Gilbert interrupts.

"This is sweet and all, but we have one more person to introduce… Ivan! Come on in!" There's the sound of a door opening, and a large, burly man with a prominent nose and glowing violet eyes enters Alfred's field of vision.

"Privet, American. My name is Ivan. I'm going to be your executioner today." Though the words are gravely and frightening, the Russian smiles happily, like a flight attendant about to prepare his passengers for one hell of a flight. The man holds up a syringe, full of dark red liquid. He taps it lightly. "Belladonna juice, straight from the plants of Italy. Belladonna directly translates to 'pretty woman' in Italian, because women used to put this on their faces, producing a wonderful blush on their cheeks. Innocent enough, da? Eating ten of the berries are fatal; luckily, we are able to fit the juice of twenty berries into this syringe. We already gave you some of the poison earlier, in the wine." The entire prepping lesson, Alfred stares at Alice, eyes wide and hurt. She smiles at him, trying not to notice the pain in her own stomach. The sooner he's dead, the sooner she can get on with her life.

"Now, any last words, American?" Ivan asks. "You should say them now, because after I inject this, I shall be the only one to stay in this room with you. The others have more important business to take care of."

"Antonio, I'll miss having drinks with you." Alfred sighs in defeat.

"Me too, mi amigo. It was fun while it lasted."

"Francis, Gilbert, Ivan, you're all assholes. Go rot in hell."

Francis laughs, Gilbert gives a small response of '_with pleasure_', and Ivan simply smiles.

"Alice…"

"Yes, Alfred?"

"I love you. I hope that someday, you'll love me too. Maybe."

"We'll see, dear Alfred. Have a lovely trip."

"I will." He closes his eyes tightly, inhaling a deep breath, before opening the blue orbs, staring straight into Ivan's eyes.

"Go ahead," Alfred allows, "Give it to me."

The syringe is put into a vein in Alfred's neck, and pulled out when it's empty. Antonio is the first one to leave, holding in tears for his friend. Francis follows. Gilbert leaves moments later, and Alice gives on last look to Alfred, smiling sadly, before blowing a kiss and leaving.

Alfred is dead in ten minutes.

* * *

Alice sits on Gilberts lap, eating a bowl of cereal. He flicks through the channels absentmindedly.

"Mission accomplished. What's next?" She asks.

"I'm guessing another bank robbing." Alice nods.

"I _do_ love bank robberies. How's Francis's arm?"

"Still bruised. You really can pack a punch, liebe."

"Thank you, dear."

Ivan had cut the body up and dumped it onto a morgue sight. The berries are untraceable; they wouldn't be caught. They made sure of it. Life is back to normal, relatively. Alice sets down the empty cereal bowl and nuzzles into Gilbert, planting soft kisses on his neck.

"Love you, Gil."

"Love you too, Alice."

She always does prefer bad boys, and she always will prefer her German.


	5. Day Five: Western

Hello! Here's the next one! Sorry it's really short ._.

* * *

Day Five: Western

* * *

At nine in the morning, in Harrington Gulch, villagers start to form a crowd in the center of the small town. They stand silently, at ease. The first few people out are the older folk, and having it be late winter – or early spring, depending on your liking – the weather is pleasant for the elders. The small children are next, dragging their parents along for the 'show'. The kids are always excited for the event, and their parents sigh in remembrance of their first time. It's all fun and games.

The few drifters, shop owners, and young adults finally make their way to the crowd, knowing what to expect yet wishing it wouldn't happen. Why did it have to be a public thing, anyways? It didn't need to be. They could rid of them in the jail, or in their own homes or out in the desert or something.

And yet they knew; if the execution was moved elsewhere, the people would follow. They always do.

Finally, at fifteen to noon, the sheriff rides in, along with the mayor, the prisoner in tow. This week, the prisoner is a male, muscular yet thin and wan, with pale skin and white hair. At first glance, the villagers believe him to be an elder, but when he stares them all down with his flawless white skin and glowing red eyes, they know immediately why he is being terminated; he's a demon, a worshipper of Satan and his laws.

"Today we have a Gilbert Beilschmidt, of the local German family, who could luckily make it to this celebration." The sheriff begins, and everyone turns to find their little immigrant family, locating them quickly. The mother is crying, leaning into her son as she weeps, her light blonde hair lying limp. The son, younger brother of the accused, has steeled himself, blonde hair swept back and blue eyes staring straight forward, at his older brother. He knows for a fact that his brother is a good man, although his ways of acting on his intentions are not very formidable. If he were to say that, though, he would be taken out as well, so he stays silent, trying to glare and apology into his brother's forehead.

The older brother refrains from looking up or speaking out, after he glared at each and every person in the mob. He is ashamed of himself; he shouldn't have left his room, down in the basement of their house. He shouldn't have left the comforts of his home, to walk in the open of the town… but his mother was sick, and still sick, and she needed the medicine that he didn't get. He didn't know where the general store was. He couldn't have asked his brother; Ludwig was at school at the time.

"Any last words, sir?" The sheriff says, starting to raise the large shotgun. Finally, the albino man speaks, voice broken and weak.

"Please… Just give my mother the medicine she needs." He whispers hoarsely. The sheriff barks out laughter.

"Oh, _shut_ it, filthy _inbred_. They're going to be forced out of this town, anyways, for hiding the devils incarnation in their house."

"No!" Gilbert shouts immediately. "You can't do that! This is the only place they have-"

"And that's a damned shame, but they'll have to make do. I wonder where they'll end up, as any towns near here are definitely going to be informed of this… _Predicament._" Gilbert growls, allowing tears of anger and hatred and shame to flow down his cheeks, and he closes his eyes tightly praying for this to just all be over; that he'll wake up and be back in his bed, the smell of food spilling down the stairs into his room, his brother coming down to visit him and tell him about the cute girl that he sits next to in class, and giving his brother lessons in his spare time.

If things had ended happily, he would be at home, doing exactly that. Maybe things would have ended better than expected; he had gotten the medicine for his aging mother, and she was back up and running, working at the saloon once more.

If things had ended badly, he would be dead, and this story would be nothing; just a chapter in a book, a measly beginning to something bigger. Maybe the beginning to his brother and mother's story, of how they thrived in another town, or died trying.

But things ended in what could be called a surprise ending, the true ending.

The last guest arrived.

"What seems to be the problem here, gentlemen?" A woman's voice, polite and loud, with a slight accent; British, from the likes of it. Most of the crowd gasps, and the sheriff answers back.

"J-just a lil' old execution, outlaw. Nothing for you to be concerned about." Gilbert opens his eyes, and a woman on a brown and white speckled horse is facing off with the sheriff, both of their guns trained at each other. While the sheriff has a general shotgun, the woman has a hand cannon; complete with initials on the side of the polished silver; _'AK'_. Her expression is annoyed, eyebrows furrowed and green eyes crinkled. Gilbert is slightly in awe of her pale skin, and her hair, an ashy blonde, down her back in tight ringlets. She wears pants, and a white shirt with the sleeves ripped off, revealing more pale skin than acceptable on a woman. The dark tan bodice on the outside of her shirt is clenched tightly, and she finally hops off her horse, walking forward on brown leather cowboy boots, the rocks under her feet crunching as she moves closer to the sheriff.

Finally she lowers her gun, a bright smile on her face.

"Tell me," She whispers, "What did this fellow do?"

"H-he… Damn, just look at 'em! He's a wild mess!" The sheriff exclaims. Slowly, the woman turns to look at Gilbert. Her eyes widen at his eye color, just a bit, before she winks and turns back to the other man.

"He looks like a normal man. Why would that be anything to be afraid of?" Gilbert's eyes nearly pop out of his sockets. Someone called him _'normal'_. The smallest of smiles grace his lips in bewilderment, but drops quickly as he remembers the situation he's in.

"He ain't normal! His eyes are the color of blood an' his hair is as white as a ghost, not to mention he's as pale as a dead body!" The sheriff interjects. She shrugs.

"So what? Just because he's been colored in a little differently by God does not mean that he is demon spawn." She explains slowly, her British voice drastically different from the sheriff's slurred, southern one. He opens his mouth, baffled.

"…An' what do you say 'bout the niggers? Same thing?"

"Of course. They are people, just as well as you all are." She says with a grin. "You all look the same when cut open and bloody, at least~" The sheriff gasps in surprise, and fires the gun. It misses her by a few feet, as he had accidentally lost control of the gun, shocked by her outburst.

Gilbert is flung up, over a shoulder. His hands are previously bound for the shooting, as are his legs, but that doesn't stop him from thrashing in surprise.

"Hush up, twit. You're coming with me." The British woman says, green eyes glowing in excitement. Gun shots and screams echo throughout the desert.

"Now, you allow his family to leave in peace if need be. And please, give his bloody mother some medicine. She needs it." The woman calls out loudly, and Gilbert can hear the sheriff's screams of outrage.

She hops onto the horse, Gilbert balancing in front of her on his stomach, legs on one side and head on the other.

"Hey! What are you going to-"

"I said, hush up. I'll untie you when we get to my house." She orders, and he stays quiet, as she hitches up the horse, and gallops them both away. Gilbert looks for his family one last time, but is unable to find them, and sighs in defeat, closing his eyes and drifting into a stupor, wondering if his family is going to be okay without him, and wondering what this woman is like. He likes her already, with her straight, demanding voice and confidence that could strangle a cow. Or the sheriff.

"Gilbert…" He mutters his name, and before he drifts off, he hears her own, sweet voice, trickling into his mind like water into a cup.

"Alice. Alice Kirkland. Pleasure to meet you, Mister Beilschmidt."


	6. Day Six: 1920's-Mafia

I'M SO SORRY I HAVEN'T UPDATED IN TWO DAYS AND THIS UPDATE IS LATE AND IT'S SHORT

I'M SORRY PLEASE FORGIVE ME T-T

* * *

Day Six: 1920's/Mafia

* * *

It's protocol, and Gilbert knows it. The shady looking American – who has such a grand, good-kid name, Alfred – looks downwards, then back up at Gilbert, blue eyes showing honesty and innocence from behind gold-rimmed glasses. Gilbert also knows the look in Alfred's eyes is a lie; he has heard rumors, and boy, do they show him in the light often. His scandals are usually in the newspaper. _'Bank in Flames, Money Gone!' 'Three Found Dead in Alley!' 'Man Caught With Stolen Guns!_' That last headline is the reason why Gilbert stands in front of Alfred now.

Gilbert feels that Alfred got dragged into this situation, and he's sort of sorry for the guy; but orders are orders, and he knows that, since he wishes to join their gang of angry and rejected souls, he has to be the one to pass the test.

"I'm sorry, man," the American apologizes, though he himself knows that this hazing is needed to show that this weird, red eyed man in front of him is capable of being the mafia's little messenger boy. Morro told him that this 'Gilbert' has talents that could be of use to Alfred, and Alfred trusts Morro's word completely. "But in order for you to be a part of this alliance, you need to pass the test."

Gilbert nods immediately, aware that the moment his friend, Morro, told him about this elite gang, he was prepared for this life sentence. His family has already kicked him out; he's nothing but an eleventh year in high school, with nothing better to do but use his skills of sneaking around without being noticed. In this day and age, when people are finally starting to enjoy their lives instead of survive, watching movies and listening to music – Gilbert himself enjoys George Gershwin, and Louis Armstrong, both fabulous jazz artists that make him want to jive and learn to play himself, like his brother, Ludwig, can – he knows that his trick of being fast and invisible to others is very important.

"Alright, perfect." This Alfred in front of him looks to be even younger, only a first year in high school, maybe, but he holds himself like he's a soldier in the Army. "Here's the deal, slick; you're meeting with the provider."

"Already?" Gilbert squeaks out, almost immediately scolding himself for acting like such a child.

"Chill, man. It's mandatory. She's always getting new places to hold fort. Has to, actually." Gilbert tries not to be an imbecile, but 'she'? Wouldn't a lady not wish to get her hands dirty with this type of trade? "I'll give you the address where to meet her at midday; it's just the diner over on Eighth Ave. Y'think you can do it?"

Gilbert nods again. He knows the place, he's ready for this. He repeats that over and over in his head, as he heads to Morro's place, a little apartment in downtown Seattle, and lies on the couch, mulling it over until the sun rises.

* * *

Gilbert gulps, swallowing down another cup of coffee. He can't help it; he's nervous. The file in his coat is suffocating him. He scans the crowd again, trying not to pay attention to the curious glances shot his way. He's used to the looks, people wondering why such a 'strapping young man' has white hair and red eyes. It was always too much to explain.

If he were in the right state of mind, he would have snickered as their expressions as a woman made his company in the seat across from him, but his mind was a little preoccupied with how pretty the woman is.

Her hair is a dusty blonde, cut in a pixie, but he knows out of cleanliness rather than fashion, as it's choppy and unladylike in every way, yet very exhilarating. Her skin is pale, with heart shaped lips and green eyes that could kill a man.

"I apologize if I happened to keep you waiting; this bloody traffic, nothing like the roads in Britain." She greets breathlessly, a thick English accent molding her words into perfect harmony. "Now, are you Gilbert?" Her voice has lowered drastically, and somehow, people return to their business, and everything is almost normal.

"Y-yeah." He stumbles, reaching into his jacket hastily to retrieve the large folder. She laughs as he awkwardly hands it over the table, and she clicks her tongue like a mother chastising her child.

"Now, Gilbert," she says coyly, "_under_ the table. We wouldn't wish to be caught, would we?"

"N-no ma'am." Gilbert scrambles, trying to figure out something coherent to say. "W-what did you say your name is?"

"All in good time, Mister Beilschmidt." She says, then laughs a cutesy, twinkly laugh. "My, what a mouthful of a last name you have, sir."

"It's German." He explains, and she nods, leaning forward, propping her chin into a gloved hand. Then Gilbert notices what she's wearing; a lovely cream dress, complete with pearls and white gloves that go to her elbows. _My, she's fancy_, he thinks to himself, comparing her elegant attire with his worn black slacks and old jacket.

"Ooh, you are also European? What a coincidence!" She exclaims, voice raising in awe. "I don't recall ever visiting Germany, I'll need to do that now, if I return to London…" He nods. She holds the information in front of her, pulling a pair of glasses from her small clutch, slipping them on effortlessly. "They're reading glasses," she informs, before revealing the handwritten pages, glancing over them quietly.

"Ah, yes. Let me just get my information out, and I'll be off." She finishes, reinserting the papers into the envelope and sealing them in her purse. She pulls out a small slip of paper, and a pen. She scribbles quickly onto it, and slides it across the table. He reads it quickly.

_'Alice Kirkland'_ is typed neatly in the middle of the card.

_'Yellers Apartments'_ is next, and both are surrounded by a large black square, blocking the information from the rest of the plain white card. A time and date are scrawled onto the card, followed by instructions when he turns the card over. _'Top floor. Say you're for the plumbing, they'll send you right up.'_

He looks up to thank Alice, but she's gone, and he longs for a week from now, when he'll most likely get to see her again.

* * *

"You did good, B." Alfred laughs after looking at the card. "I knew I could count on you." Gilbert shrugs, smiling. Alfred looks directly across at the other man; they're both the same height, though Alfred is more bulked out. Probably played sports when he was in school. Gilbert is frail and cheap. Alfred gives Gilbert a small wad of bills, and a friendship of sorts moves between them.

"Make sure you get the shipments when they come in on that date, got it?"

"No problem, boss."

* * *

The day has finally come. Gilbert gets to see her housing. After those few minutes he had with her, he wants to know more about Alice. Not about whom she works for, or where she gets her 'shipments'; which consist of weapons and drugs, usually. He wants to know her favorite color, and how she sleeps, and what she likes to eat. He wants to know everything.

He notices she must be of wealth, as the apartment is uptown, much different from the café where they met. He enters the place slowly, admiring the décor. A man behind the counter addresses him, and he does exactly what he was told to do, and is given directions to which stairs to take.

When he comes to the door of the apartment, he hesitates, before knocking. He can hear low music from the other side, but the loud 'come in!' that echoes melodically through his ears is what pushes him in.

There's smoke wafting around the room in finesse trails of burnt tobacco. Alice sits on a couch of some sort, a long, quality cigarette in between her slim fingers. A Siamese cat that was previously sitting at Alice's feet moves slowly towards him, slinking around Gilbert's ankles. Alice is in a short black dress, with black gloves and heels the same color. Her eyes are outlined in dark, and her full, red lips curve up in a playful smirk. In the small recesses of his still-accessible mind, he figures out she's listening to Gershwin; 'Lady Be Good', to be precise.

Gilbert feels himself sinking, lower and lower into her trance, and he tells himself to snap out of it, but it's too late; he's completely and utterly in love with this mysterious, angelic woman.

"Come," she whispers seductively, giving a small smile, "let us talk about the shipments~"


	7. Day Seven: Steampunk

Hey! I got this done, here you go! C:

* * *

Day Seven: Steampunk

* * *

_Open, remove, repair, replace._ The pattern is irreversible, and people like it that way. Alice has been doing this for three years now, as the only clock repairer in Liverpool. She knows clocks inside and out, and can name the year, brand, and type of wristwatch someone is wearing by a mere glance.

That is, until people realized that clocks can last much longer than hearts. Someone thought it would be brilliant to replace human hearts and blood with clocks and oil; and they made it happen. People are making the switch all over the world. Alice finds it ridiculous, but then again, she can see the good aspects of the transition. People with failing hearts can finally find a way to live again. Politicians are able to stay in office longer. Loved ones are living longer, although after the age of eighty they need to begin replacing their limbs and organs with synthetic replicas, although most outer replacements are just made out of wood and metal, rather than realistic looking ones.

Because there are so few tinkerer's and clock workers in Liverpool, Alice was immediately forced into the job. People came at high demand, almost literally selling their lives to get a new 'heart', which was just a clock, in all aspects. She loathes her job deeply, angered by the fact that she's working with _people_, which she doesn't like to do.

But the job pays great, and in times like these, she needs to keep her head up and keep living. After all, her brothers have finally left for the war, and she can't leave, being a woman. She needs to stay here and help others live.

Right now, she's waiting for her next appointment. A 'Gilbert Beilschmidt'. Age twenty-four (she's twenty-three herself), height of six-one, eye color red, hair color white, and blood type O. A very rare specimen indeed. She has to know all of this information beforehand, so she can properly use the perfect clock for the patient. She's picked a new brand, recently made, beautiful silver pocket watch, although it's larger than a traditional one to fit the needs of a male that works in a blimp graveyard and does a lot of physical work. His appointment starts at one in the afternoon.

He arrives a little late, the door opening to reveal a drained looking German. A little smog from the outside follows him into the room.

"Sorry," He apologizes hastily, "I got lost on the way." She nods. Her shop is downtown, crammed in between a clothing store and a diner.

"Quite alright, Mister Beilschmidt." She answers easily. "Follow me." She comes out from behind the counter, and disappears into a hallway. He's moving slowly behind her. "Are you unsure about your decision to have a new life source?" She asks, like she asks every patient.

"A little, yes."

"You don't talk a lot, do you?"

"I do," He denies, "but there's not a lot I have to say at the moment." She accepts the explanation, and leads him into a room, with a padded table in the center. Cabinets line the walls, and there's a small rolling table next to the table.

"Please, take a seat." Alice says monotonously. He follows the order immediately.

"So, how are you gonna drug me? Needles?" He asks, almost trying to joke. It _is_ a joke to Alice, and she laughs a little.

"You didn't look into this procedure much, did you?"

"Not really, no." He answers honestly. She laughs again.

"Well," She begins, "I'll lead you through the entire surgery, so you'll know how it all happens at the end. Please remove your shirt and pants."

"Wait, you aren't gonna knock me out?!" He squeaks out, unbuttoning his shirt slowly and shimmying out of his trousers. Alice nods.

"We have to have you conscious the entire procedure, it's protocol. We can't have you dying on the table." She explains. "You won't feel a thing, though. I assure you. And we can talk about whatever you wish."

"A-alright…" He gives in.

"Now please, lie down. This will only be a moment." He does so, and she moves above him, inserting an IV into his forearm.

"You'll need two IV's right now; one on one side to remove the blood, the other on the other side to replace it with genetic material that will keep you alive, but numb your body completely. It's colored yellow, in case you wanted to know." Gilbert nods slowly.

"How long have you been doing this for?"

"Since the procedure became possible, Mister Beilschmidt."

"Can you call me Gilbert?" She gets that from each patient.

"Of course, Gilbert."

"Do you like doing this?"

"No," She answers slowly, unsure about this question, "I think it's a waste of time, and that God made us the way we are for a reason."

"Me too."

"May I ask a question?" She requests. He nods, and she continues. "If you are against this transfusion, then why are you getting it?"

"It's a new thing for those who want to go into war. Those that are already on the battlefront don't need to change their hearts, but men that wish to go to war this far into it need the switch." She nods at this new information, thankful that her brothers, though they are assholes, don't need to go through this.

"Blood to Byproduct switch is finished. I'm going to remove the IV's now." Alice informs, slipping the metal out of his blood streams. "Can you feel anything?"

"Nothing." His reply is a little sloppy, but that's normal. She feels his flat stomach, checking for any uncertainties, and finally moving to where his heart should be.

"You can ask me anything," Alice informs him.

"…What's your name?"

"Alice Kirkland."

"Pleased to meet you, Alice."

"You as well, Gilbert."

Alice has cut the skin on his right pectoral.

"My brother has already gone to war." Gilbert says quietly. "He's younger than me, just out of school. When the war started, he immediately signed up, saying it was his duty as a younger citizen of this society."

"My brothers also went to war at the beginning. They left me alone at the house, having our parents dead, and I've been caring for the home since. I don't go there very often, I just live here. This doubles as an apartment." Alice explains, locating the collarbone and the ribs. "Is that why you wish to leave?"

"Yes and no," He answers, "I'm tired of working on the graveyard. It's just taking apart and selling old blimps and their parts, and it's just… I'm tired of it, I guess." Alice nods.

"Oh, tell me about it. I miss the days when I was just working on clocks, and not _human bodies_. I'm going to open your ribcage now, Gilbert. It might become hard to talk."

"Okay."

"My mother was always ashamed of the path I chose in life. She wanted me to be a model."

"Well…" Gilbert wheezes. Alice watches his lungs twitch with life for a moment before returning her attention to the heart. She has the clock in her hands, the beautiful silver reflecting into her eyes, making her squint a little. "You… have the… body for it…" Alice can't help but redden a little at the compliment.

"Thank you, Gilbert. You look very nice as well."

"Don't mention… It."

"I'm moving your hearts valve openings to the clock. You might feel a tugging, but try not to pay attention to it." Alice says, and snips the tubes, quickly stitching the remaining openings to the clock. "I'm fully removing the heart now."

"Alright."

"Do you want to keep it? Some patients like to preserve it in a jar."

"No!" He shouts, and the clock begins ticking. That trick always does it. She laughs. This is her favorite part of the procedure, watching the clock start the life up again.

"Good, the clock works perfectly. I'll stitch you up, and you're good to go." She smiles, but it soon disappears. "You said that you don't _really _want to join the war, but your life is too boring for your ambition, correct?"

"Yeah…"

"How about you come live with me? You can help me here as well, and not only is it a different environment from a blimp graveyard, but you get paid a decent amount. I'd split my earnings with you." She blurts it out before she can stop herself, and a blush consumes her face. "Unless you don't want to, of course, it's your decision. I could use some help here and at home, though. It's a big house."

"…Sure. I'm cool with it. It sounds fun, although… Still a little boring."

"Oh, trust me," She looks up at him, giving a wink as she snips the final string to the stitches on his chest. "It's anything _but _boring."


	8. Day Eight: Disney Movies-Fairytales

I'M SO SORRY I'M LATE AGAIN I HAD A BABY SHOWER TO GO TO AND MY COMPUTERS BEEN ON THE FRITZ LATELY AND I HOPE I GET A NEW ONE SOON BUT IT NO

PLEASE FORGIVE ME

* * *

Day Eight: Disney Movie/Fairytale

* * *

Kiku kicked Alice out of the house. Again. All of his little experiments are really pushing her buttons, but he's her _father_, and she needs to treat him with respect. Although she's adopted. But that doesn't matter; she has better things to do than mope over not being able to read her books at home.

She heads to the next best place; the library. God, does Alice love the library. Books are her ultimate love, and she can't help but conjugate at the public place.

The bell twinkles her arrival, and the head librarian, Matthew, gives her a wave.

"Hello, Alice. Lovely weather we're having." He greets quietly. He was definitely made for his job, as he rarely talks, and is a shy fellow. She greets him back, and moves to her favorite area of the library; the fantasy section. She loves fairytales especially, even when she was a child, and her mother would tell her wonderful stories of folklore and mystery, leaving Alice wide awake each night, pondering the possibilities of an alternate world filled with fairies and princes and princesses ripe for rescuing.

When she comes across one of her favorites, _'Aladdin'_, she nearly rips it off the bookshelf, bringing it back to the counter to check it out. Matthew gives her a curious glance.

"Again?"

"What?" She replies tartly, "It's good." He laughs, and nods.

"See you later, Alice."

"You too, Matthew." She says, and is about to walk out the front door, when he calls out to her.

"Be careful, my brother is out on the town today, and I know you have to walk through it to get back home." He mentions, and she shudders, giving a nod. Matthew's brother, Alfred, is a troublesome man, to say at the least. He's the exact opposite of Matthew, with a big mouth and a rather bulky personality. She shoves the book into her bag, and begins walking through town. At this time, in late autumn, everyone is moving about the streets, trying to prepare for winter and sell their harvests. Everyone is in a good mood, and the band in the middle of the town square starts up a smooth piece, making her sit on a bench and enjoy the weather and music. She closes her eyes, allowing the small amount of wind to blow her blonde hair gently around her face, inhaling a deep breath, before reopening her pale green eyes.

She comes face to face with childish blue ones.

"Hey, Alice!" Alfred greets joyfully. She bites back a sigh, and replies.

"Hello, Alfred." He gives her a cheeky smile, and winks.

"Care to dance?"

"Ah, not right now." She rejects. "I'm rather busy."

"Doing what? Sitting like a sore log?" He jokes. She wants to hit him. _Sore log? What in God's name is a sore log?_

"Yes. It's _very_ intriguing. Have you ever stopped to smell the flowers yourself, Alfred?" She growls, patience thinning.

"What flowers?" He asks, confused. "What kind of flowers do you like, Alice? I'll get you them, and you can smell them _all_ you want!"

"No thank you. I think I'll be leaving now."

"Where to?"

"My home. Alone."

"To see your crazy dad? Why? I bet whatever he's doing is _very_ important, a woman like you should stay out of it."

"And why is that?"

"You don't want dirt under your pretty nails, do you?" _Oh, Alfred. Such a lady's man. Asshole._

"Why, _never!_ In _fact_, I think I came to town to get some new polish for them!" She mockingly replies.

"Oh, I can show you the _perfect_ place! I was there recently, some chick dragged me into the store with her."

"What was her name?"

"I don't know. She isn't you."

"Oh, that's _flattering._"

"Thank you!" Man_, these insults are flying right over his head._ "Now, how about that dance, Alice? Maybe we could go out afterwards~"

"…Alfred… How many times do I have to say no?" Alice sighs. "I _don't_ like you, and never will, Alfred."

"Why not?!" He indignantly shouts.

"Well, for one, when a girl gives you her affection, you can't even recall her name. Another big reason; you always insult my father."

"He isn't even your real dad, Alice!"

"Fuck you."

"A woman shouldn't talk like that, Alice!"

"A woman can do _whatever_ she pleases, Alfred. Stop bothering me." Alice pulls out her book. "I wish to read now, so be off with yourself." Before she can even get a sentence in on the book, it's ripped from her hands. "Hey, give that back, Alfred!"

"Not until you go out with me!" He argues, holding it above his head so she can't reach it. She gets onto her tiptoes to try and get the novel, but he just chuckles, and presses his lips to hers, which are now in perfect reach. She pulls away immediately, delivering a slap to his face, his glasses skittering onto the ground at the impact.

"_Don't touch me!_" She hisses. His eyes darken angrily.

"Who do you think you _are_, _hitting_ me as if I'm some sort of _disobedient child?_" He spits out. He drops the book into a nearby puddle from a rainstorm, and Alice immediately gasps in pain.

"Why, you _asshole!_" She screams, hitting him again. "Not only do you _interrupt_ my private time with your _constant blabber_, but you _interfere_ with my personal space, steal my borrowed property, and then _damage_ it! Why, not only are you childish, simplistic, sexist, and selfish, but you're also an _idiotic asshole!_" She yells, hitting him over and over. He barely flinches. "I… _I want to kill you so much right now!_" He chuckles, grabbing her wrists and twisting them painfully.

"Try it. I _dare_ you." Without warning, her leg jerks up, hitting him right in between his legs. His eyes widen as he cries out in shock, releasing his grip and falling to the ground. She sighs, rubbing her wrists achingly. She picks up the book, drying it with her skirt, before slipping it into her bag once more.

"Fuck you, Alfred Jones. Don't you _ever_ come near me or my family again, or you'll be _sorry_, wanker." She informs, giving a nod to the drawn crowd, before heading home.

On her way, she doesn't let the names and insults of _'crazy'_, '_weird girl'_, or '_what's wrong with her?'_ move her independence.

* * *

Kiku is about to leave on a trip to the state science convention. Alice waves him off, and pays no mind to it, enthralled in her book that dried and is still in working order. She knows Matthew will understand when she mentions that it was Alfred's fault, and not Alice's.

* * *

When her horse is roaming uncharged around her house a day or two later, Alice becomes worried, as her father was using the horse in order to get to the exposition. Without thinking, and quite worried for her father, she gets on the horse, and makes her way to where the horse got spooked off and ran away.

She finds a trail of fresh footprints in the newly fallen snow, and they lead her to a large castle. Appalled at the fact that there is a _castle_ in riding distance of her town, she slowly gets off the horse, moving forward, towards the building. She creaks the large door open, and peers in.

"Hello?" She asks, then scolds herself. This place looks abandoned, and has been for at least ten years, shown by the lack of tidiness and erosion of the walls. She moves forward, the horse following her, although it's so scared that it feels like turning tail and fleeing back to their house.

She comes across a fireplace. Although she wouldn't notice it usually, there was one small thing about it that draws her closer; it's lit, and a large, orange flamed fire is burning in the hearth. A chair sits before it, and she stares at it, confused. She hears a barking sound, and nearly shrieks when a little footstool moves near her. It begins walking, and she backs up, leaning on the stock-still horse for support.

"What the…" She whispers in awe, before realizing; a fairytale! This place is an actual fairytale, like one of her books! Alice drops to the floor, and begins petting the footstool as if it's an actual dog.

"Hush it, you _fool!_" A whisper echoes from behind her, and she turns slowly, expecting to find someone, but there's only a wall, with a table that has an assortment of different items upon it. She turns back to the footstool.

"But Roderich! Le belle femme n'a pas peur de le marchepied!" Another voice interjects, and Alice turns again. The table is still littered with a small clock and an unlit candle holder. She raises an eyebrow.

"Hello?" She calls again. No response. "Please, come out. Are there more of you personified inanimate objects?"

"I will have you know that we are _perfectly_ animated, ma'am." The first voice says, finally giving in to the fact that she accepts them. She lets out a startled gasp when she sees the clock talking.

"B-but… _How?_"

"Oh, ma chérie, we just are~" The candle holder begins speaking, and it lights up almost immediately. "You must be starving! Here, let us take you to the kitchen, Tanja can certainly get you up and running again~" Alice nods numbly.

"But… What about my horse?"

"Ne vous inquiétez pas, ma chérie, we will take care of it~" He grins. She nods again, and watches as the foot stool gets to work, herding the horse to another section of the house. She immediately longs for it, for something _familiar_, but the feeling dissipates with most of her thoughts as she follows the French candelabrum and German clock to a dining room.

"Hello, dears!" A teapot – literally – greets them as they enter. She gasps at the sight of Alice, and whispers, "My, is that a _girl?_" To which the clock and candlestick nod, if possible.

"Oui, Tanja. Isn't she lovely?" Alice widens her eyes.

"Are you a Finnish teapot?" She blurts before blushing, realizing that could be insulting to ask. Tanja pays no mind to it.

"Yes, actually! How did you know?" Tanja asks curiously. Alice shakes her head.

"It's nothing, I just pass by a tea store on my way to the library every day. I go in every so often, it's a nice place."

"Wonderful! Well, let's start on getting you some food. Peter!" She calls out, and a small teacup enters Alice's field of vision.

"Yes, mama?"

"Can you get Sadik up and cooking?"

"Yes, mama!"

"Thank you, honey." Alice gets escorted to a seat at the large dining table, and her food comes shortly, although it's a large amount; nearly an entire buffet! Her mouth waters slightly.

"Oh, I can't eat _all_ of this…" She whimpers, and Tanja shakes her head.

"That's quite alright! We know Gilbert will have to eat as well!"

"Who's Gilbert?" Alice asks.

"Oh, no one of importance yet. How about we introduce ourselves? You already know me, I'm Tanja. I lead the kitchen."

"Je m'appelle Francis Bonnefoy. I am a servant of sorts, along with Roderich~"

"I can introduce myself, Francis." The clock grumbles. "I'm Roderich. I am the organized one."

"Are you an Austrian cuckoo clock?" Alice questions curiously. Roderich nods.

"Yes, and it infuriates me that I can't play the piano in this state."

"In this state? Have you been human before?"

"Well, yes," he stammers, "but that's not important right now." Their chatter is cut off by loud yelling.

"_Why_ _is there a horse in the stalls that is not ours?!_" A shout echoes through the house, and Tanja moves Peter to the cupboard.

The doors to the dining room fling open, revealing what Alice can only describe as a monster. It's covered in pale white fur, and the flames from Francis's candles ignite the red eyes on the beast.

"_You!_" It growls, glaring at Alice, who's stock still.

"Merde…" Francis whispers, and the wolf-like thing stalks quickly to Alice, looming over her.

"_What are you doing here?!_" It bellows.

"I-I…" She clears her throat. "I came looking for my father!"

"_No one else is here, girl! Be gone with yourself!_"

"But," Francis interjects, "What about that Japanese man-"

"_Shut up, Francis!_"

"Japanese man? That's my father! I'm sure of it!" Alice concludes. "Did you take my father?"

"_You can't take him! He's mine now!_"

"No, you _can't_ have him!"

"_What will you do to stop me?!_" The monster taunts, giving a lip curling grin.

"I'll… I'll…" She stutters, trying to think. She finally answers quietly. "I'll take his place." The monster seems taken back.

"You'll… _What?_"

"I said I'll take his place, damn it!" Alice yells back, losing her fear of the monster as her irritation with him grows.

"Are… you sure?" The monster says, voice quieting down. She can hear a German accent in his vocals now, and nods.

"I'm positive. He's too old; he doesn't deserve _imprisonment._"

"If… _If you insist!_" He growls, turning his attention to Roderich. "_Go take the man out of the tower!_"

"Right away, sir-"

"No! Not yet!" Alice blurts. The monster immediately turns to her. "I… I want to say goodbye, at least."

"Very well." The monster nods, and it decides to take her up to the cell itself.

* * *

When they arrive, the door is pushed open by the beast. Alice finds her father in a corner, shuddering in the cold.

"Dad!" She whispers weakly, and his head jerks up.

"Alice? What are you _doing_ here?!" He groans as he heaves himself up. "Run! Before he gets you too!"

"Oh, Dad… You're getting out of here. I took your place."

"What?! Why would you do that?!" His dark eyes glare into her green ones. "He will eat you!"

"Actually, I have a low tolerance to such fatty meats, like _humans._" The monster jokes, if possible. Kiku flinches.

"Hurry, and get out of here!"

"Dad, go home! I'll be fine!"

"Times up. Come on, sir. We've got the horse downstairs and everything for your departure."

"Alice-"

"Go on, Dad. I'll be fine."

"No, wait-" The monster pulls Kiku out of the cell, and slams the door. Alice rushes to the glassless window, and waits to see her father get shoved on the horse and sent away home.

She begins crying silently at the sight.

* * *

It takes until the next morning, but the monster finally opens the door to the cell, addressing Alice.

"It's getting too cold for you to be up here without dying. You're moving to the guest quarters." Alice nods quietly, rising from the cold stone floor, rubbing her arms to try and warm up a little as she follows him through the large mansion. Overnight, she decided that it wasn't an 'it', but a 'him', and although he's mean and cruel, he deserves the small amount of respect.

They finally come in front of a door, and he turns to her.

"Here's your room. Breakfast will be in an hour, and you'll have dinner with me tonight."

"Why I _never-_"

"Go warm up, get some rest." He shoves her into the room, and leaves. Dejected, she flops onto the bed, stressed and tired. She cries for a second time, before going into the bathroom and having a long, warm bath, dressing in a yellow dress when she exits. A tray of food sits on her bed, along with a familiar teapot and cup.

"Good morning, Alice." Tanja greets, and for the first time that day, Alice smiles. She tells Tanja everything that has happened so far, and asks Tanja about the beast.

"Well, his name is Gilbert. He's a feisty, temperamental fellow, with a humor streak and intelligence like no other."

"Well, he seems _stupid_ to me." Alice grumbles. "How mad will he be if I don't turn up for dinner?"

"As mad as anyone would be if they got stood up."

* * *

_I'm only going because I was forced and I need to follow through with this because I didn't immediately reject the proposal,_ Alice thinks to herself bitterly as she walks through the hallways, arms crossed angrily. Just _because I'm going, doesn't mean I have to enjoy it._ A small smile curls on her lips at the thought. As Roderich leads her, talking on about the history of the castle, Alice's mind wanders, and soon she's thinking of the library in her village, and Matthew sitting behind the counter. Matthew looks almost exactly like Alfred, but he has a certain poise to the look, as his body is frailer, and his eyes are more of a lavender than blue, and his hair is a little lighter and more wavy than Alfred's.

A wistful sigh escapes her lips at the chills she gets when thinking about Matthew, and Roderich turns to her.

"What is it? Are you finally noticing the beauty of the castle?" He asks happily.

"No… It's nothing. I just miss my books, that's all." She dismisses. He glances at her again, and turns back around.

"Alright, Alice. We have arrived. Tonight's specialty is roasted chicken and potatoes, along with carrots as well, if I recall."

"Thank you, Roderich."

"Oh, and Alice?" She turns back to him, one hand on the doorknob.

"Yes?"

"…Thank you, for going to dinner." He explains. "He… He usually has to eat alone, as no one else in the house eats, and I know you have just been forced to stay, and you could be throwing a huge fit about it, and not leave your room, but… You chose to come. Might I ask why?"

"I didn't have the time to reject the offer, so he's expecting me. My conscious will not accept the fact that I would potentially leave someone waiting." Roderich smiles.

"Well, that's as good of an explanation as any. Have fun." Alice smiles, and enters the dining room.

The beast sits on a chair, nastily devouring a chicken leg.

"You took too long, so I began eating." He explains through mouthfuls. She tries not to shudder at the revolting scene, taking a seat across from him. She piles a leg or two onto her plate, but places more potatoes and carrots on than chicken. She also pours a glass of what appears to be juice. She sits in silence, mostly because she doesn't wish to talk to 'Gilbert', but she is also quietly marveling at the greatly prepared meal.

"I want to thank you for coming," The beast explains.

"I want to thank you for inviting me." She replies back, taking a sip of the 'juice' and nearly spitting it back out. "What _is_ this?!" She exclaims at the nasty taste.

"It's wine." He states proudly. She makes a small noise of realization, and takes a smaller sip, relishing in the first drink of alcohol she has ever experienced.

It tastes like dirt and rubbing oil. She wrinkles her nose.

"Well, I can cross that off my bucket list now."

"You've never had wine?"

"I've never had alcohol."

"How old did you say you were?" He asks through a chicken wing.

"Old enough." She retorts, getting back to eating, ignoring the wine. There's a trail of silence.

"…I'm twenty-five." He recalls. "I think. I can't really remember." She looks up at him incredulously. He catches the gaze. "What?"

"I'm only seventeen." She relents. He stares at her, vibrant red eyes clashing with her green.

"_Wow._ You seem more mature than a teenager."

"I don't talk to others often, and I grew up on books."

"Really?" He inquires, sounding a little charmed, even though he gobbling down potatoes like they're going out of style.

"Yes. I love reading; the library in my town is very large and beautiful…" Matthew clouds her mind, and she blushes a little, shaking her head. "I-it's nothing important." Having her food finished, she wipes her mouth with the provided napkin, and rises. "Thank you for the meal, Mister…"

"Beilschmidt, but call me Gilbert." He orders. She nods.

"Gilbert. Alright. Goodnight." She exits, leaving his heart palpitating like he's going into cardiac arrest at the sound of her pronouncing his name in a wonderful British accent.

* * *

It's December. Alice has been under the control of Gilbert for one month. Dinner with the beast has become a common occurrence, and she has grown used to the nasty way the beast eats, although something has changed about it; there's a regal beauty to him, in some weird way, and it shows when he eats, as if he was trained to have manners, but forgot them for a few years. Most of the time, she sits in her room, but can't help but be drawn to explore the castle. There's a dark, battered wing of the castle, and one day, she decides to swallow any fear, and check it out.

The farther in she walks, the darker it becomes. Pictures and paintings on the walls are shredded, some hanging on blindly, others already clattered to the ground. She passes a shattered mirror, which she looks into for a few seconds, before moving on. _I should have brought shoes,_ she scolds herself, wood and glass crunching beneath her feet. She just hopes that she doesn't cut her foot.

Finally, she comes to the end of the hallway; a single door, open slightly to reveal darkness. Inhaling a breath, she pushes it open.

On one side of the large room, there's a bed with ripped sheets and a collapsed canopy. The wood is scratched, and a large hole is in the middle of the floor, exposing the level underneath, which looks like a prison cell of some sort. She carefully evades the lack of ground, and sees another painting. This one is on tapestry, and it was perfectly ripped at the top, to hide whatever is on the fabric. Unlike the other art pieces out in the hallway, this one was _purposefully_ ripped the way it was, rather than out of anger and spite. It draws her in, and she slowly lifts the fallen piece to where it was originally placed, completing the picture.

It's a painting of a man. He looks peculiar, with short, choppy white hair, and glowing red eyes. His skin is pale, and a small littering of freckles dot his nose. He stands in the painting, smirking, with a crown on his head. Obviously, he's royalty. Alice recalls having heard about people with this disease, and it takes a moment for the name, albinism, to come to her. She moves on.

There's a set of windows that are all blocked off, and on a table, sits a vase with a single, glowing white flower in it. She moves forward, and finds it's a lily, with speckled red on the petals. She reaches up, longing to touch the flower, to smell it.

"_Nicht!_" A thick voice says behind her, and she jumps.

"Blimey!" She squeaks, whipping around to look at the beast. His eyes are blood red.

"Get out!" He shouts. "Now! Go to your room!"

"B-but-"

"_Now!_" She runs past him, fleeing blindly. She runs to her designated room, and jumps under her covers. Her feet are coated in cuts and splinters from the hallway, and she burrows into the pillows, never wanting to wake up again.

A few hours later, her lunch arrives, and Alice asks Tanja to get a medical kit. Swallowing her pain, Alice rinses her feet in hot water, and pulls out every splinter and shard of glass, tears of pain dribbling down her cheeks. Once all of the debris is in a bowl – forty-one, she counted – she rinses her feet again, and puts healing cream on them, wrapping them in bandages and slipping socks on over them. She tests walking, and finds it's a less painful than she expected.

When she doesn't arrive for dinner that night, Gilbert becomes worried, then furious. _Who does she think she is? First she goes to restricted areas in the home, then refuses to come to dinner._ He rises from the table, and rushes to outside her door.

"It's dinner time." He says politely through the door.

"I'm not hungry." She replies. He growls.

"Come to dinner. _Please._"

"I'm not hungry, Gilbert. Leave me alone." He reaches up, ready to break through the door.

"Can I come in, at least?"

"I'm actually rather busy right now. Come back later." He grabs the handle to the door, and twists it, surprised to find it unlocked. He enters. He sees.

"What happened?" He asks, as he watches her reapply balm and bandages to her feet. She shrugs.

"I cut my feet on shattered glass while running."

"Running? From _what?_" He orders.

"_You._" What happened floods his mind.

"Well… You shouldn't have been there!"

"Nothing was stopping me! You never told me not to go there!"

"…Those are my private quarters! You should have known that!"

"You scare the _shit_ out of me, Gilbert! How could I _possibly_ know that I'm not allowed there?! You _rarely_ talk to me, and at dinner you're more occupied with eating than having a chat!" She argues. He bristles.

"Well then maybe we should talk more, outside of dinner!"

"Maybe we _should!_"

"Fine!"

"Fine!" Gilbert growls, slamming the door shut before realizing what they were arguing about. Alice must have just realized as well, because laughter emits from her room. He reopens the door carefully.

"How about I show you something tomorrow?" Gilbert asks slowly. Alice laughs again, a large smile appearing on her face as she finishes applying the bandages.

"I think I'd love that."

* * *

"Okay… Are you ready?" Gilbert asks her.

"Are we there?"

"Not quite." He has a strip of fabric over her eyes, and her glasses are held in his 'hand' delicately. He has another hand on her shoulder, leading her through to the needed room. "Okay, we're outside the door. I'm going to open it, and pull you in. No peeking."

"I know, Gilbert," She laughs, "I know." After the weird, petty argument yesterday, the tension between them has eased, and is almost gone. He opens the door to the bright room, squinting lightly, and takes her hand, yanking her in before shutting the door again.

"Alright. Take the blindfold off." She does so, and gasps at the sight before her.

"A… Library? A personal library?!" She squeals, turning to Gilbert. His lips curl in what appears to be a smile.

"Yeah. I haven't been in here in a while – it's too bright for me – but I had some of the maids clean it up, and… I don't read much. You can use it."

"You mean it?"

"No. You're forbidden to come here." At the serious tone, Alice's smile disappears. "I'm kidding, Alice. Of course I mean it." The smile is back, and he hands her her glasses.

"Wow, there's so many… It'll take a lifetime to read all of these…"

"Well, you better get started, then."

* * *

Alfred is worried. He hasn't seen or heard from Alice in nearly two months. He decides to pay her house a visit.

Kiku is alerted at the knock on the door. He comes up the stairs from the downstairs laboratory, and answers the door. Alfred is leaning against the frame almost instantly, before realizing that this is an old Japanese man, not a lovely British girl.

"Kiku? Where's Alice?"

"I cannot tell you."

"And why not?" Alfred says defensively.

"Because you would think I am crazy." Alfred laughs at Kiku's explanation.

"Oh, old man… Everyone in this town thinks you're crazy all ready. There's nothing that could make it worse." Kiku sighs at the argument.

"All right. Alice was kidnapped by a beast in the forest. She took my place in the castle, as the monster's prisoner." Kiku has never heard someone laugh louder than Alfred does at that moment.

"Wow, you are a really good jokester, old man. Now, tell me where she really is."

"I just told you. She is in a-"

"I need the truth, oldster. Not some fairytale."

"Well then you are out of luck. I am sorry." Kiku closes the door on Alfred's protests.

"Why, I'll _show_ him. I'll get him to tell me where Alice _really_ is." Alfred grumbles as he walks back into town. "He'll be sorry he ever shut the door on _me._"

* * *

Christmas passed quickly. Alice is getting to know Gilbert, and she must say, he is a very caring being, although it is hard for him to show it. For Christmas, she made him a scarf out of a mix of Prussian blue and red fabric. He gave her a hand mirror.

"Do you really think I'm that vain?" She had joked when she received the mirror.

"Actually, it's magical." Gilbert explained, wrapping the scarf around his white furred neck. "You say who you want to see, and the mirror'll do it." To try it out, Alice said,

"Show me Tanja." The reflective glass flittered, and had shown Tanja scolding Peter for burning Alice's tongue earlier with too hot tea. Alice laughed at the sight. "Thank you, Gilbert. I love it."

"Oh, it's nothing-" He was cut off as she burrowed into Gilbert, realizing how close of friends they've become. She realized she loves him. He spluttered, before finally putting an arm around her. How is she able to hug him, to accept him? He pondered this question all night. _I'm covered in fur, and look horrifying, not to mention that my real physical appearance is rather shunning as well._

While he questioned if she liked him or not, she sat in her room, looking over the people she knows in town curiously.

"Show me Matthew." The screen changed, and she watched the blonde sit at home, curled up on his bed, reading a book. It looked to be _'Aladdin'_, and she squealed for a few minutes, before realizing that someone was missing from the household.

"Show me Alfred."The screen flipped again, and she was shown a view of the local pub, Alfred sitting at the bar by himself.

"Oh, where _is_ she?" He had wailed. "Where's my Alice?" Some men snickered in the side of the view.

"Did she fall down a rabbit hole, Alfred? I bet she hit her head pretty hard, maybe you need to go save her!" The two men went into cahoots, and Alfred stood.

"Don't you _dare _tease me. She could be out there, hurt, _dying!_" He shouted.

"Yeah, but you'll have others. There'll always be other women for such a man like you."

"But she's the only one I _want!_" The two men looked at each other.

"Well," one said.

"That's a _very_ bad pick for _you._"

"Although she _is_ the prettiest girl in this damned town, she's a little… _Crazy._"

"Weird girl. What's up with her _reading?_"

"True…" Alfred had sighed. "She's _really _pretty… I bet I could train her to be the perfect little wife. Imagine our kids!"

"You two'll never have kids. She's too much of a prude."

"Hey!" Alfred shouted, and he jumped on the men. Alice sighed, changing views.

"Show me Kiku. Dad." The screen switched again, but this time, it was her father, trying to trudge through the snow in the blizzard that was occurring. She gasped as he fell off the horse. The horse nudged him, but he stayed down. Alice dropped the mirror, running out of the room.

"Gilbert!" She screamed. "Gilbert! I need your help!" He was in front of her almost immediately.

"Yes? What is it?" He asked, worried.

"I need to leave. My father, he's in the woods, and- and…" She trailed off, tears pooling in her eyes.

"Okay, you can go. You can go! _Hurry!_" He exclaimed, shaming himself for letting her leave. He needs her to break the curse, but… There could always be another girl, he guessed, ignoring the hole forming in his stomach.

"Thank you, Gilbert. You're a good person." She whispered, running to get a warmer dress on, along with boots, gloves and a cloak. On her way out, she kissed Gilbert on the cheek, whispering a small 'I love you', before fleeing out the door.

Little did she know, she had just broken the spell.

It took her a few minutes to find a horse, and speed out of the manor, riding into the forest.

"Dad?! Dad, where _are_ you?!" She screamed. Finally, she came across the horse, him next to it. She leaped off her current horse, and fell to the ground next to him. He was unconscious. She heaved him up onto their horse, and took off, leading the first horse slowly back towards the road, and to her home.

* * *

When Kiku reawakens, it's been a day or two.

"Hey, Daddy." Alice whispers, putting a warm rag to his head.

"A-Alice…? Why are you here?" He whimpers. "I thought… You were kidnapped by that… beast…"

"I was, but he let me leave to save you. We're home now." She explains. "And Gilbert isn't so bad. He has good intentions, usually. He just doesn't really know how to act on them."

"Gilbert?"

"Yes, Daddy. That's his real name. He's a real sweetheart, actually." Alice smiles. "But I'm here now, and you're safe and alive. That's all that matters." A loud banging echoes throughout the house. Alice rises, and moves to the front door, answering the knock.

"Oh, Alice!" Alfred exclaims, moving forward and pulling her into a hug. "Thank _God_ you're okay!"

"Go away, Alfred. I do not want you here." Alice sees someone behind Alfred, and waves at Matthew. When Alfred finally releases her, Matthew swoops forward, giving her a short hug. Alice returns it.

"Good to see you, Alice. Been missing you at the library."

"Yeah, it's a long story." Alfred is baffled, glancing back and forth between Matthew and Alice.

"You two _know_ each other?" Matthew and Alice look at the other, rolling their eyes.

"Alfred, you're an ass." Alice states.

"Hey, you shouldn't say that to your future husband!" Alfred retorts. Alice snickers.

"Alfred, I would rather _die_ than marry you."

"Actually, that could be the case." Alfred insists. Alice stares wide eyed at the blonde before her. He grins. "Here's the deal; you either marry me, or… your dad'll go to the loony bin." Alice gasps. "After all, he _is_ crazy. Everyone knows it."

"N-no! He most certainly is _not_ crazy!"

"Oh, really?" Alfred raises an eyebrow. "Yo, Kiku! What was it you were going on about a few weeks ago? Something about a beast?"

"Ah…" Kiku groans. "A beast had taken Alice…"

"What did he look like?" Alfred continues.

"White fur, with red eyes." Alfred snickers.

"See? Crazy!"

"No, he's not! I've seen that 'beast' before too! His name's Gilbert!" Alice informs. Alfred raises an eyebrow.

"Oh, really?"

"Yes! He lives in a castle down the path out of town!"

"I thought that castle was abandoned…"

"You thought _wrong_, asshole!"

"Aw, man," Alfred whines, "I didn't want a crazy chick."

"I am not crazy! I'll prove it to you!" Alice screams. "I'll take you there myself, and show you him!"

"Really? Well, let's be off, then." Alice gasps, realizing what she has just done.

* * *

The reluctant trip takes a few hours the next day. _Why didn't I just bring the mirror with me? How stupid can I be?_ The castle is white, and lit up. Alice gasps. What _happened to the gargoyles? The black stone?_ Everything is whitened, and illuminated. Alfred makes a forward motion, and Matthew, on his own horse, comes to the beckon. Alice ignores them, getting off her horse and moving forward to knock on the door. It swings open happily.

"Bonjour- Oh, Alice!" An unfamiliar man hugs her tightly, and a muffled grunt of surprise escapes her. "Merci, merci, merci _beaucoup_, ma chérie! You freed us, you freed us!"

"Freed you? From what? Who _are_ you?"

"The spell, ma chérie! It's Francis! You did it! We're all human again~" Francis explains happily. He's a man that's a little taller than Alice, with shaggy blonde hair and blue eyes, with a small bit of facial hair. She raises an eyebrow.

"How? What did I do?"

"You love him! You told him you love him, and you meant it!" Francis exclaims, before turning slightly. "Roderich, regardez! Regardez, regardez, regardez!" A man with almost black hair and lavender eyes comes into vision. He wears glasses, and has a small mole on the bottom left of his chin. He smiles calmly.

"Hello, Alice." The voices are uncannily similar, and Alice stares blankly at them.

"I… Broke the spell?"

"Oui! You broke the spell!"

"…How?"

"Oh, come in, come in!" Roderich sighs, irritated. "It's cold out there, and bring your guests in, as well!" Francis finally notices the brothers; his eyes skim past Alfred uninterestingly, but his eyes immediately lock on Matthew. As Roderich brings Alfred and Alice in, Francis sticks back with Matthew.

"Bonjour, beau~" Francis winks. Matthew turns a dark shade of red.

"B-bonjour, monsieur." Matthew stutters, looking down, trying to force his blush away. Francis gives a wide, surprised grin.

"Est-ce que tu parle français?" Francis asks easily. Matthew nods.

"O-oui, monsieur. Couramment."

"Tres bon! Tu as parfait!" The two begin chatting in fluent French, and Roderich leads Alfred and Alice through the castle.

"The castle's interior has been perfectly refurbished to its original appearance, and anything broken or worn down is completely fixed. Not to mention the kitchen-"

"_Peter!_" A scream echoes from the door to the dining room, and they look over, watching as a young boy with blonde hair, blue eyes, and thick eyebrows sprints out of the door, squealing and shouting.

"Look mama! I'm a boy again! I have legs!" He shouts gleefully, before catching his eyes on Alice. "Alice!" He squeaks, diving towards the woman, hugging her tightly. "Look, I'm a boy! See? See?"

"Yes Peter, I see." Alice giggles, looking up as the doors open again to reveal a beautiful, short woman, with glass white skin, short, pale blonde hair, and vibrant purple eyes. She gives Alice a small smile.

"Hello, Alice." She greets, stressed out at Peter's untamable personality. "Lovely of you to return."

"Wonderful to see you, Tanja. My, you're pretty!" Alice exclaims in awe at Tanja's features. A blush forms on her face.

"Oh, thank you." Alice smiles.

"Now, let's get you and your friends some dinner. I'm sure you three are famished."

"Oh, thank God!" Alfred sighs, putting a hand to his stomach. "I feel like I haven't eaten in three years!"

"Alfred, you ate this morning," Matthew points out, his English a little sloppy after speaking so much French, having just finished his conversation with Francis (which mainly consisted of Francis flirting shamelessly with the younger man, who responded with stutters and blushes).

"But that doesn't mean I'm not _hungry!_" Alfred whines. Alice rolls her eyes.

"Where's Gilbert?" She asks curiously.

"He's out in the gardens. He didn't like leaving the castle after his 'predicament', so he's trying to revive five years of unkempt flowers." Alice smiles softly, and excuses herself.

* * *

It doesn't take long for Alice to find the garden, and for her to find Gilbert. She barely recognizes him, as he's a man, taller than her, sighing as he clips dead roses with a pair of bladed shears. They're a little old fashioned, but do the job well. His eyes are a red shade of unimpressed, and his hair is the dusty white from the painting. She feels different around him, as he's different, but she knows he's that same man, the same one that showed her beauty in the most monstrous thing she has ever witnessed; him. He stops momentarily to gaze at his hands, marveling in the fact that their _hands_, not paws covered in fur.

"…Gilbert?" Alice asks softly, and Gilbert quickly turns, sticking his hand into the rosebush to keep his balance. He curses when he scrapes his hand on thorns, and Alice steps forward, taking the hand.

"Here, let me help." She insists, and he complies silently, watching her pull a bandage out of her backpack, along with a dry rag. "Shit, hold on. I swear I saw a working fountain here somewhere-" Gilbert silences her with a quick kiss.

"Shut up, I'm _fine._" He growls, before releasing a pent up sigh. "…Thank you for returning. I love you too, by the way." Alice stares at him, before giving a grin, kissing the man in front of her. He gives a muffled sound of shock, before wrinkling his brows, closing his eyes tightly to kiss her back. She mutters a soft 'I love you' and he replies with the same.

"Are you _fucking serious?!_" A shout escapes from behind the happy couple. Alice turns to see Alfred. His brows are furrowed, glaring at Gilbert. "You have known me for _eleven years_, Alice, and you _know_ I have been trying to woo you for six! I've done _everything possible_ to try and get you to like me! And then this, this _asshole_, comes out of _nowhere_, and you're head over heels for him in _three months?!_" He gives out a cry of anger and irritation. "You _know_ how much I love you, Alice! I've loved you for a _damn_ long time, and this guy just- just…" He looks at her, blue eyes hurt. "Give me a reason why him and not me."

"Alfred…" Alice sighs, before beginning her explanation. "You're idiotic, and simple-minded, and childish, and just a _brute_ overall! You're selfish, and cruel, and arrogant, and you can't get it through your thick skull that I have _never_ liked you! I'm _sorry_! You just never were what I wanted!"

"…Oh." Alfred whispers, and it takes a few seconds of silence, but he finally mutters, "Well, if _I'm_ not what you want, then you won't want anything anymore."

In the blink of an eye, Alfred pushes Gilbert away, and tackles Alice to the ground. In the span of a few moments, he has the shears, and is pressing them to Alice's neck. Alice gives a strangled cry for help, and the pressure of Alfred's body is lifted from Alice. Gilbert shoves Alfred down, and they tumble for a moment, Gilbert's speed fighting with Alfred's muscle.

Eventually, Alfred ends on top.

"You're an _asshole_ for _taking her _from me!" Alfred screams.

"You're an _asshole_ for- well, you're just an asshole, actually." Gilbert replies sarcastically. The movement is quick and simple, and a red stain begins growing in Gilbert's shirt, the blades coated in blood. Alfred shudders, realizing what he's done, and drops the scissors.

"I-I didn't mean to…" Alfred whimpers, turning to a deranged Alice. She rises slowly, incredulous.

"Y-you…" She breathes. "You… _killed_ him…" It hits her straight in the face. "You _killed_ him! _You killed Gilbert!_" She shrieks. The blades are in her hand, and she grabs a blank Alfred by the hair, pulling him up to her face. "I loved him, and you _killed_ him!"

The stab comes quickly, into Alfred's stomach. He lurches, groaning in pain.

"Alice…" He whispers. She stabs him again, and again, and again, until his shirt is shredded and his chest is filled with multiple wounds.

"Fuck you, Alfred."

"I-I…" His voice is wavering, and he coughs up blood. "I love you… A-Alice…"

He collapses to the rock ground below her. She inhales a shuddering breath, before realizing it isn't her breath, but the breath of another.

"Gilbert?" She hisses, turning towards the white haired man. His eyes are the same color as his shirt, and he coughs a little, a small amount of drool and blood trickling down his chin. Wherever Alfred got him, he got him good. She's beside him in a moment.

"Alice…" He moans, looking up at his angel, whose glasses lay crooked on her face. He'd right them, but his hands are coated in blood. His blood.

"Oh, Gilbert, don't _die_!" She wails, cradling his head softly, rocking back and forth. The tears are instant, running down her face haphazardly. "Please, oh _God_, _please_ don't have him die! _Please!_"

"Alice… I-I…" He sighs, opening his eyes one last time. "I love you, so much… I don't want to leave yet."

"_Gilbert…_" She sobs, slowly rubbing his hair, matted with blood. "I love you too. Don't leave, please… I'll… I'll do _anything…_" Gilbert gives one final sigh.

"I'll see you soon… Alice…" He mutters, before his head falls slack, and the hand that Alice was clenching falls loose. Alice screams in pain.

"Gilbert, _no!_ Don't go, _please_ Gilbert _please!_ I just got you…"

"Then quit your whining and carry me to the castle already, damn it." He growls. She shrieks, looking down at her winking love.

"W-what…"

"Do you really think I'm going to get killed from a minor stab? Really?" He sighs, giving a chuckle. "He didn't even stab my chest, he got my hip. It's just bleeding a lot." Alice wants to hit him.

"Are you fucking _serious?!_ I thought you had _died_, I thought you were _gone!_" She cries. She hits him in the chest, and he coughs again. "How did you even do the coughing up blood trick?!"

"My hands are still bleeding, remember? Hurry up and get me some water, this blood has made my mouth taste terrible." Alice leans down, and gives him a kiss.

"You taste fine to me." She mentions, irritated. He sighs.

"God, I love you." He looks over at Alfred, the body already growing bugs. "Damn, you did a toll on his crazy ass."

"He deserved it."

"What'll we tell his brother?"

"How do you know about his brother?"

"I heard you three come in." Alice picks up Gilbert, and after dropping him into the fountain she knew she saw, she carries him in.

"What happened?!" Roderich screams in shock. Alice opens her mouth to say that Alfred attacked Gilbert, and she killed Alfred, knowing the full consequences of what would happen with her relationship with Matthew – he would hate her, she killed his brother – but Gilbert butts in.

"Alfred and I fought over Alice," He explains. "He stabbed me, and I fought back in defense. He died."

"Why are you soaked in water? Did you fight in the fountain, mon ami?" Francis asks.

"I faked my death. Alice dunked me in the water for revenge." Alice smirks slightly at that. She turns to Matthew. His eyes are wide behind his glasses, and he finally sighs.

"Mon dieu, _finally!_ He was such a _prick!_" Matthew praises in relief. "Thank you, Gilbert." Gilbert gives a smirk.

"All in a days' work. Now, can I get some medical help?"

"Sure thing, honey!" Tanja exclaims, before calling out for Antonio and Ludwig, the royal doctors. As they take care of Gilbert, cleansing him and sewing up the wound, Alice realizes how much will change. She's now courting a prince of some sort, and a happy ending is definitely in play.

She just can't figure out when.

* * *

The happy ending does come. A ball is held for the reappearance of the Prince, and almost everyone in the village comes, little kids twirling around in new dresses and young men flirting with the young women. Francis asks Matthew to dance – in French, of course – and the stumbling librarian replies with positivity, both swaying to the gentle waltz.

Alice sits at a table, sipping wine easily. It still tastes like dirt and rubbing oil, but she refrains from wrinkling her nose, now realizing that wine is for those of acquired taste. She sees a male walk towards her, and he holds out a hand, red eyes twinkling.

"Wanna dance?" He asks politely, giving a grin. She laughs.

"I would love to."

He twirls her night away.


	9. Day Nine: Police-Detectives

Here's another one! Go for it! It's short, though ._.

* * *

Day Nine: Police/Detectives

* * *

"There's been another one, Kirkland." Beilschmidt sighs, and Kirkland soon joins him.

"God, can't they just give it a _rest_ yet?!"

"Suppose not, ma'am." Kirkland crosses her arms.

"Let the other cops deal with it, I'm tired of these robberies. They're infuriating, sure; but they're ridiculously _petty_! They're only stealing _simple_ things, like money and jewelry! My, if _I_ were a robber-"

"You _were_ a robber, remember?" Beilschmidt smirks, giving a snarky laugh. Kirkland feels her green eyes roll all by themselves. She snorts.

"That was _twenty years ago!_ How do you even _remember _that? We were only in _preschool!_"

"I wanted to be a police officer, and you were determined to become my arch nemesis," He recalls, "does that ring a bell?"

"Y-you shut up! I'm a changed woman, Beilschmidt!"

"Yeah, whatever. I still see you steal my cookie every once in a while~"

"That's because I _make_ those cookies! I have a right to them!"

"And yet they still taste _terrible…_"

"Why, I ought to-"

"_Ladies!_ Quit your fooling around, we have people in trouble!" Zwingli barks out when he enters the office. Kirkland and Beilschmidt glare at each other, before Kirkland looks away, moving past Zwingli silently, out of the room.

"Women, huh?" Beilschmidt jokes, but it doesn't reach Zwingli.

"I wouldn't know." Zwingli replies shortly, having Beilschmidt recall that Zwingli has a husband at home, Roderich. Beilschmidt knows Roderich; back as a child, he would pick on countless other kids, Kirkland being one. Roderich was also one of the few, as was Hedervary, a girl who is also on the police squad nowadays. Beilschmidt and her get along rather well now; in fact, all of his coworkers he gets along with.

Except for Kirkland, that is. Something about her being in the firm doesn't sit right. She's always been a bit of a kleptomaniac, but gets away with it easily. Must be her small frame, with long blonde hair and green eyes that are outlined in silver-wire glasses. She doesn't look like she's a bad person, and she isn't. She just… She likes a lot of things that she can't buy. Beilschmidt forgives her for it, though, every time.

_Yes,_ he considers, as he gets into the police car, Kirkland in the passenger seat, _something about her being in the firm doesn't sit right._

* * *

"We've got another break-in," Kirkland sighs, turning to her partner. He shrugs.

"We need to stop the asshole that keeps stealing shit." He replies, and she glares at him.

"Beilschmidt." She warns.

"_What?_"

"Are you implying what I think you're implying?"

"Are you implying that I'm implying what you think I'm implying?"

"Don't you even _dare_, I am _not _afraid to use a tazer on you." Kirkland growls. Beilschmidt winks.

"My, that's kinky~"

"Damn it, Beilschmidt! Be serious!"

"Alright. What's the address?"

"It's the Bonnefoy household." A grin grows on Beilschmidt's face.

"We get to go see birdie~" He sings, and Kirkland smacks him.

"Hush up and drive already, asshole."

"Already done."

* * *

"Gilbert! Merci dieu that you're here!" Madeline greets happily. Beilschmidt rubs her hair playfully.

"Good to see you too, Birdie. Might my partner and I come in?"

"Yeah, you and Alice are welcome any time!"

"Alice?" Beilschmidt questions curiously, before Kirkland steps forward.

"Hello, Madeline. Lovely to visit you, although the circumstances are a little… Strained."

"Indeed!" Madeline laughs. "Francis has been waiting for you two to arrive! He has all the information."

"Did any of your possessions get taken?" Beilschmidt asks worriedly.

"Oh, no! My things are all fine!" Madeline giggles again, leading the two police officers into the living room, where there's a large gap on the wall that's a darker color than the rest of the walls, due to something having sat there while the rest of the wall drained of its color.

"Good to see you two!" Francis greets happily, trying to refrain from French in such a time of seriousness. "I bet you can guess what is missing from this room."

"…The television?" Kirkland guesses, raising an eyebrow at the Frenchman before her.

"Oui, precisely!" Francis confirms angrily. "It took me so long to work up enough to buy it at the bakery, too…" Francis sighs, turning to the duo. "Do you think you'll be able to find who did it?" Beilschmidt and Kirkland nod determinedly.

"We'll do everything that we can, Francis." Beilschmidt informs. The Frenchman grins.

"Tres bien! Merci!" Kirkland and Beilschmidt nod, and after a little small talk, leave.

* * *

"Kirkland, you need to stop." Beilschmidt says as they get home. Kirkland's green eyes connect with his red for a moment, before turning back to the situation at hand.

"What? You know very well I can't just _stop_ it from happening. Besides, they'll get it back by the first, I promise." Kirkland insists, flipping through all the channels on their newly hooked up flat screen.

"Kirkland."

"Beilschmidt."

"…Fine. But no later than then." Beilschmidt relents, sitting next to her. She leans onto him, enjoying his warmth.

"I promise, it'll be back in two weeks."

"Say, what kind of shows we got on here?"

* * *

Two weeks later, Francis and Madeline find a surprise in their garage; their missing television, along with any cords, and a small slip of paper. Madeline takes it, and opens it, her and Francis reading the sloppy, almost undecipherable cursive.

_'Thank you for letting me borrow this. It was very nice. There is no harm done to it, don't worry.'_

Although they are disturbed and weirded out at the note, which looked like it was written by a six year old (in reality, Beilschmidt had to completely cover his partners tracks by writing in the worst cursive he could possibly do), they shrug, and move about adding it back into their living room.


	10. Day Ten: Time Travel

I want to apologize for being like three days late, and I want to say that these are probably not going to be very punctual. I might post one every three days, or two in one day. We'll see.

* * *

Day Ten: Time Travel

* * *

_Fuck,_ Gilbert curses. _It happened again._

He never means to skip back thirty years through time, but it's not like he can control it… yet, if ever. He's only fifteen, for Christ sake! And it's weird, he always goes to the same time period, and the same place in the world; London during the eighties. Why the eighties? Why London, of all places? He'd much rather be in his home in Munich, Germany, even if he was to still go back in time!

It happens so often, though, that he has been able to create a 'second home' of sorts. He always goes back twenty-five years exactly, ever since he was eleven, in 2009. He went back to 1984, and was on the streets of daylight, wondering what to do, when a police officer found him and thought he was a kid ditching school. When the police man got Gilbert into his cruiser and asked why the peculiar looking child wasn't in school, Gilbert broke down crying and told the cop everything, from how he was German and lived in Munich to the fact that he was born in 1998, fourteen years from then. The officer was worried and confused at the boy's erratic and weakened display, and although what Gilbert was saying is true (and the cop could tell, by the way that Gilbert's red eyes would widen then squint, pulling his white hair gently, tears dripping from his chin), the cop was doubtful.

But then he remembered, and he quickly allowed the boy to stay at his home, on one condition; that Gilbert would talk with the officers grandfather. Gilbert agreed immediately, and they drove to the house. It was a gray townhouse, nothing offsetting or distinctive about it.

"Father? Are you awake?" The older man calls.

"I'm in the living room! What are you doing home? Don't you have work?"

"Yes, but I brought home this boy for you."

"I'm no fruity, Peter."

"Not like that, Dad. He's a twister too." This perked the man's interest, as well as Gilberts.

"Really? Come, sit him down! In all my years, I have _never _met another!" The old man exclaimed, voice rattling slightly. He beckoned Gilbert over with a hand, and he timidly sat down in a chair across from the couch the older man claimed. The old man then shooed the younger off, and after Peter left, the elder turned to Gilbert.

"Now, what's your name?"

"I-I'm Gilbert." Gilbert stuttered, trying to speak English. He only knew so much of it; most of what the father and son had just talked about flew over his head.

"My name is Arthur." The old man introduced, green eyes vibrant yet haunted beyond his years. "Now, what year is it, Gilbert?"

"… It was… 2009, last I remember."

"My _word_, that's… twenty-five years from now!" Arthur mumbled. Gilbert widened his eyes.

"Y-you… mean…"

"Right now," Arthur said, "it is only the year 1984."

* * *

Arthur had explained everything to a shocked into silence Gilbert, and ever since, he has been allowing Gilbert to have residence at their home when he jumped. Gilbert grew to know that Arthur's late wife, Amelia, had passed, and that Arthur used to jump to America in the 1700's.

"That's how I came to know of Amelia's family, as I had a… friendship, with one of her ancestors. Poor fellow…" Gilbert had raised an eyebrow to that, but didn't question their relationship any further. Arthur lives with his son, Peter, Peter's wife, Paulette, and their two children, Leon and Alice.

Alice was born first, with wild blonde hair and bright green eyes, like her grandfather. She had to wear glasses at a young age, and is a year or two older than Gilbert. Leon, on the other hand, was adopted, after Paulette was determined unfertile. He's a little Asian kid, who has a surprisingly thick British accent, more so than his family members. He's dark eyed and haired, and sticks out a little. He was eight when Gilbert arrived, and is now twelve. Alice is seventeen.

It has been a while since Gilbert last time-twisted (dubbed by Arthur himself), and he is completely taken back when the world spirals around him and he is suddenly in the middle of a crowded street, Big Ben looming overhead like an overprotective parent. Gilbert gulps, and immediately begins looking like he knows what he's doing, walking to the house he knows by heart.

When he arrives, Arthur gives a large grin.

"Long time no see, Gilbert! How are things?"

"Oh, fine. I've been doing nothing of importance." Gilbert responds, sitting in front of Arthur. Arthur is now seventy-one, but doesn't act like it, nor feel like it. His grin widens.

"My, you've gotten tall!"

"I'm only 164 centimeters, Arthur."

"Still, that's tall!" Arthur exclaims. Gilbert finally gives in and nods.

"Indeed. How are Leon and Alice?" Gilbert has always been fond of Alice, not only as a bigger person to look up to, but he also had a small crush on her. She was very polite and delicate, but could splatter out enough insults to spiteful people to make them ashamed. She was powerful, all right; just not in the ways you would expect.

"Leon has just started his seventh year at school; Alice has another year before she graduates. Both get good grades, and Leon has a little crush on this little girl in his grade, another Asian child. Alice is too absorbed in her schoolwork to bother with others." Gilbert nods. She's always been like that, finicky about what needs to be done rather than the people she'll meet on the way.

"What about Peter? Did he ever get that promotion?" The last time Gilbert had visited was nearly a year ago, and Gilbert recalls Peter pining after a job promotion.

"Indeed, he did! He's now the head chief, in fact!" Gilbert swells with pride. He always thought of Peter as a father, especially since his died and he lives with his irritable grandfather and perfect brother. They chat absentmindedly until Leon comes home from school.

"Gil!" Leon squeals happily, tackling the larger boy. Gilbert gives a laugh.

"Hey, Leon!" Gilbert responds energetically, patting Leon on the back.

"How have you been? How was Germany?"

"Oh, great! It's always lovely this time of the year, lots of sports for me to play." Gilbert answers.

"Yeah! I really like doing track!"

"That's amazing! How fast can you run?"

"Faster than you!"

"Oh, really?" Gilbert asks coyly. "Wanna bet?"

"You're on!"

* * *

Paulette arrives home next, followed by Peter. Alice doesn't come home 'til seven, after dinner.

"Sorry," She apologizes to us all while we sit on the couches, "They needed an extra hand at the pub. I was busy."

"It's okay, dear. As long as you're happy." Paulette affirms joyfully. Peter nods in agreement.

"Bah, back in my day…" Arthur starts, and almost everyone groans. Leon, Gilbert, and Alice leave the room, Alice going to her room, Gilbert and Leon going to Leon's. Alice reads and studies. The boys play with cards.

When night arrives, they all are sent to their beds. Gilbert, for now, sleeps on the floor of Leon's room, but when he's certain everyone's asleep, he rises from his makeshift bed and leaves the room.

He goes to Alice's, giving the secret knock that they created. She opens almost instantly, and he slips in. Her hug is immediate, and he responds with his own.

"I thought you had forgotten us!" She whispers fiercely. He grins.

"Never could forget you guys, Alice. You all are my family, how could I? Not to mention, where would I go when I twist?" She nods, and they sit on her bed. She hands him a book.

"What's this one about?"

"It's like Alice in Wonderland, but with four children rather than one."

"Damn." Gilbert immediately begins reading, and is swept up in the poor life of the siblings, who find recluse in a magical world through a wardrobe.

Gilbert was gone before he could put the book down, and he sighed at the book suddenly appeared in his hands while sitting at dinner.

"Where did that come from, Gilbert?" His grandfather asks in thick German.

"I wanted to show you two it," Gilbert responds, "I borrowed it from the library, isn't it neat?"

"What language is that?" Ludwig, Gilbert's younger brother, questions.

"It's English. You'll be learning it in school soon," Gilbert explains, smiling to his brother. His brother looks like their grandfather, with blonde hair and bright blue eyes. Gilbert was the exception. His grandfather scorned him for being born with red eyes and white hair, although he didn't have a choice in the matter.

"How do you know English so fluently?" His grandfather asks suspiciously. He knows that Gilberts' grades are less than exemplary, all except for his English class.

"I guess I just pick up other languages easily." Gilbert responds, finishes his food, and exits the dining room, not wanting to be around his grandfather any longer.

He lies in bed for the rest of the night, finishing the book and wondering when – if ever – he'll be able to return it.

* * *

Alice and Gilbert bicker two months later about the book.

"I can't _choose_ when I twist!" Gilbert explains to Alice, whose arms are crossed angrily.

"Well you should be able to feel it coming, can't you?! I _need_ my book back! It's not mine; I got it at the library!" She shouts. He looms over her, having grown more and more, against the petite shortness of the British woman.

"I'm sorry that I wasn't able to get it because it was at home and I was at school when I twisted!" He exclaims, throwing his hands in the air. "I can't do _everything,_ Alice!"

"Well, _try!_" She screams back. "Try your _hardest,_ I insist! Try and _do everything!_" She's so passionate; maybe that's why Gilbert swoops forward and kisses her. He's so defiant; maybe that's why she kisses back.

This all happens in the living room. Pauline and Peter are at work, and Leon is over at a friend's house. Arthur, however, sees everything.

"Oh, _no…_" He whispers. "It's happening again…"

* * *

Gilbert's trying to train himself when he twists. At least once a week, it happens, and he's quietly been watching Alice change. She begins studying less and less; she has no need to anymore. She's graduated now, and about to head to college. She begins going out more, finding solace in friends and places he isn't allowed to go to in case someone should question him. She wears darker clothing, and makeup. Her lips become redder, her eyes darker. He's only seventeen, and she's nineteen.

They try to see each other as much as possible. Kissing has led to other things, but they're both very careful to not get Alice pregnant. Gilbert doesn't want to know what would happen if he had a child that was technically older than him.

He still hasn't returned the book.

* * *

After college, Alice gets worried about her relationship with Gilbert. She wants to see him all the time, not just when he happens to drop by.

She decides to ask him the ultimate question.

"My book…" She starts one night, as they sit on her bed.

"I'll get it to you, I swear!" He chuckles, running a thumb over her hand.

"No, you were able to take it with you, right?" She questions. He nods.

"Yeah, anything I'm touching comes with me when I twist."

"Could you… Take me with you?" She asks. He looks to her immediately.

"I could never. That could cause paradoxes, multiple endings… It could possibly kill you, as well."

"But would there be a chance of me surviving?"

"None whatsoever." He lies. He doesn't want her to come forward; he can't take care of her. He is just out of the house, and only has a small apartment and a shitty job at an auto store.

"But…"

"I'm sorry, Alice." He whispers, kissing her. "I can't risk you."

She lets it drop, but the idea never leaves her.

* * *

Gilbert is there when Arthur dies. Arthur is now ninety-seven, and is in a bedridden state. His breath is labored, and his eyes are slowly losing their glow. He calls in Gilbert to talk to him alone.

On his deathbed, Arthur quietly explains how he would constantly go back one hundred and eighty years, right before the Revolutionary war. He met a man named Alfred, who was one-hundred percent American, and when the war started, he would hide in Alfred's house, away from the other Americans who would kill him for being British.

He smiles as he explains the details of Alfred; from his darkly tanned skin from farming, to his beautiful blonde hair that shined like gold, to his eyes, so blue that they could rival the sky. He says he fell in love with Alfred, and that Alfred loved him in turn.

His throat grows sticky and indifferent when he says that Alfred tried to break up the war that had grew to be on their doorstep, and how he was killed almost instantly. He warns Gilbert, tells him not to get attached to Alice, because he'll only get hurt.

Gilbert cries the most when the color finally dissipates from Arthur's eyes.

* * *

One day, Gilbert stops coming. Alice doesn't notice, not until the lapse is longer than the others. He's been gone for eight months, and she tries not to worry, but can't help herself. She begins waiting.

* * *

Years pass. Alice grows older, and finally gave in to a Frenchman's desires, and began dating the man named Francis. They got married. Alice is now thirty-eight. She hasn't given up on Gilbert, and quietly hopes to see him someday. She retires early and travels the world with her husband.

When 2015 finally arrives for Alice, she insists that her and Francis visit Germany. Munich, Germany. She doesn't know where she'll find him, but she will, and she knows it. She stands outside of a school, waiting patiently. It doesn't take long for the class to get out, and she spots Gilbert almost immediately; her heart swells, and a blush consumes her face. She hasn't seen him in so long, let alone as a seventeen year old. She walks to him immediately.

"Gilbert?" She asks. He turns, raises an eyebrow.

"That would be me." God, she's missed his voice. "Do I know you?"

"…It's Alice." She mumbles quietly. His eyes widen, and he looks around.

"I have a truck. Let's go for a ride."

They drive for a little, until he pulls up to a park. The truck idles.

"How old are you?" He asks her.

"It's impolite to ask a woman her age," She jokes. "…I'm forty-four."

"You don't look it," He considers her for a moment, before blushing, looking out a window. She smiles.

"I got married, you know." He turns to her. "A man named Francis. My last name is Bonnefoy now."

"Alice Bonnefoy…" He wrinkles his nose. "Doesn't fit right." She smiles again, more sadly.

"…I always thought Alice Beilschmidt would be better," She responds, "But… I had to settle for having just the last initial."

A small smile graces Gilbert's lips. He hastily pulls her in for a kiss. She's wide eyed and surprised, but allows it.

"I love you, Alice." He mutters. She grins.

"I love you too, Gilbert."

They spend some time catching up, before she gets a call from Francis, asking where she is, and she has to make her departure. She makes Gilbert promise not to tell past Alice about this encounter, and leaves, ready to never see him again.

* * *

Alice is now eighty-five. She lives with her only child, Mona, who takes care of her. Francis died twenty years ago, and Alice has loved no other.

One day, a man pays her a visit. He is paler than snow, with only a small amount of hair, but she'd recognize those eyes anywhere. If she recalls correctly, he should be twenty-seven years younger than her, which makes him fifty-eight.

One problem, though. He doesn't look fifty-eight. He looks older. Much older.

"Gil?" She whispers disbelievingly. He gives her a grin.

"Hello, Alice."

"How old are you?"

"Eighty. I just can't get the timing perfect, can I?" Tears fill her eyes.

"_How?_ Can't you only go twenty-five years back in time? Didn't that stop when you turned fifty?" He gets down in front of her, and presses soft kisses to her old, wrinkled knuckles.

"I tried my hardest, and I believed." He pulls something out of his bag, and pushes it into her hand. At closer inspection, it's a worn copy of 'The _Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe_'. The one from all those years ago. The tears spill.

"You aren't able to do _everything_ yet," She grumbles, but smiles through her tears. "But you _can_ do what matters."

They sit for three years, until Alice dies.

Gilbert follows suit.


	11. Day Eleven: Hogwarts-Harry Potter

I'm sorry I don't update a lot. Maybe I'll try getting one done for tomorrow~

* * *

Day Eleven: Hogwarts/Harry Potter

* * *

Gilbert was surprised when he got his letter. He was the needed age of eleven, and had never heard of the school of 'Hogwarts'. He lived in Liverpool, but had came from Germany with his family, and barely knew English; but a teacher that he cannot recall the name of paid his family a visit, explained in fluent German how Gilbert was a one in a million child – being born to dual muggle-parents - and swept him away to the wonderful world of wizardry.

He was surprised to be informed that witchcraft existed, and he was surprised to get snapped into Diagon Alley, London. He was mute the entire shopping experience, staring wide-eyed at all of the stores and merchandise as the teacher tugged him along. He would silently marvel at the brooms, and the potions, and when asked, he picked out a broom and a wand. When questioned if he wanted a pet, he said he wanted a dog. The teacher laughed.

"A dog? Silly boy, dogs are very unpractical for a wizard in training. Why, dogs only rarely ever have any magic in their bodies!" The teacher exclaimed. "You can pick an owl, a cat, a rat-"

"A rat!" Gilbert chose, grinning determinedly, red eyes glowing something fierce. "I would like a rat!" The teacher nodded, and pulled Gilbert into a shop. There, he was surprised yet again, with the sight of winged frogs, rainbow chickens, and miniature dragons. The teacher led him to the rodent sector of the store, and Gilbert's eyes had immediately caught on a sleek white rat with beady red eyes.

It surprised him by riding his shoulder all the way to the train station, where he took a deep breath and plunged into platform nine and three-quarters, the rat – which he name Fritz, after the old Prussian king – squeaking in surprise and hiding in his sweater pocket.

The old red and black locomotive surprised him as well. All of the kids flourishing towards it, with their large luggage and new brooms and animals, sent Gilbert into a blank state. The teacher gave him a wink, and said that if he needed anything to just holler. Gilbert uneasily climbed aboard. He picked a booth with no one in it, and sat down, Fritz coming out of his hiding spot to twine curiously around the albino's neck. Fritz wondered why his owner had white fur and red eyes, like himself, and decided that it was a sibling, and nuzzled down into the hood of Gilberts hoodie.

It didn't take long for a few other kids to enter the booth. Gilbert was soon surrounded by two other boys; one dark with brown hair and bright green eyes, another with blonde hair and blue eyes. He found out their names were Antonio and Francis.

"I came all the way from France," Francis grinned. "It was a long trip, but…" He began speaking fluent French, trying to explain the wonders and sights he had seen on his way, but Antonio and Gilbert didn't speak French. They didn't want to hurt their friends' feelings, so they just nodded encouragingly and decided to check out a book or two on how to speak French. Antonio says that he came from Spain, and Gilbert says he is from Germany, but moved to Liverpool when he was nine.

The train began moving, but after a few seconds, the trio continued to chat absentmindedly about school and their animals – Antonio has an owl, Francis a cat, which they both showed off proudly to Gilbert. He pulled out Fritz, who squeaked in protest at being awakened.

"Sorry, Fritz," Gilbert apologized, hastily slipping him back into the hood.

Suddenly, a fourth child entered the booth. She sat next to Gilbert, holding her easy luggage on her lap, a kitten sitting on her shoulder. She and the cat looked alike, with tan, honey colored hair, and pale green eyes. They differed from Antonio's eyes, because while his were bright green, the color of grass or a lime, hers were the color of mint, and covered by a pair of glasses. She was almost as pale as Gilbert. She's what shocked him the most.

She shocked Gilbert because he knew her.

"Alice?" He asked curiously, and she looked up at him, quiet recognition forming in her pale eyes.

"Ah, Gilbert!" She exclaimed happily, "What a surprise!" Gilbert and Alice went to the same school before getting their acceptance letters into Hogwarts. They're in the same grade, and although they're both headed to the same place, their tales of how they got to the train are quite different.

Alice was a half-blood. Her mother was an excellent wizard that came from a rivaling witchcraft school, and her father was a schoolteacher. She came from Liverpool as well, but she knew of the wizardry world before Gilbert did. Her mother had signed her up for Hogwarts and the rivaling school, and when she got acceptance letters from both, Alice picked Hogwarts, mainly because it was a gender-neutral school, with both boys and girls. Her mother had smiled; she raised her girl well. She went shopping before Gilbert did, and picked out her kitten, which she named Elizabeth, as the kitten was as proper and composed as The Queen. She almost had run into the wrong platform instead of nine and three-quarters, though she would never admit it.

It was a long, yet simple ride for Alice. The kitten circled, then laid down on her shoulder.

"I didn't know you were a witch!" Gilbert exclaimed, giving a shocked grin. She smiled back politely.

"I didn't know you were a wizard. Which of your parents are wizards? Or are both of them?"

"Actually…" Gilbert grew a little sheepish. "Neither of my parents are witchcraft-prone. I'm supposedly a one in a million kid." Antonio and Francis looked at Gilbert with wide eyes, but Alice just nodded.

"Indeed, I have heard of children like such. I myself have a witch for a mother, but my father is a… What's the word…" She racked her brain, and was rewarded with the name. "A muggle! Yes, that's the word!" Antonio and Francis nodded.

"Si, my father is a wizard, but my mother is a… 'muggle'." Antonio explained. Francis grinned.

"Je suis un pur-sang." Francis said. Alice was the only one who glared.

"Would you like a biscuit for such a feat?" She growled. He sends her a wink.

"Only if it's on your lips, mademoiselle~" She wrinkled her nose, and turned away from the French boy.

"Francis, it's your first year, right?" Gilbert asked curiously.

"Non, it's my third~" Gilbert stared at Francis. _He doesn't look thirteen or fourteen…_

"What?! I thought you were a first year!"

"Are you a first year?" Francis asked.

"Yeah." Gilbert replied, before turning to Antonio. "What about you?"

"My second year." Antonio smiled, embarrassed. "Sorry, mi amigo. It looks like you and Alice are the only first years in this cart."

Things continued to surprise Gilbert as they arrived at the castle, and entered in, all of the first years getting packed into the dining room. Damn, there were a lot of them! Gilbert took a seat next to Alice, as he knew no one else, and the assembly began.

"Hello," A woman said at the pedestal. "My name is Miss McGonagall. I am the headmaster of Hogwarts academy." Any speech in the audience simmered down to nothing, and she continued. "Today, you have been formally introduced to Hogwarts, but before you can begin your training, you must decide on your house." At this, the murmurs restarted, and Gilbert looked at Alice, who remained quiet, watching the ambassador with forced interest. He smiled; she was finding this remarkably boring, as was he.

"There are four choices: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Gryffindor relies on bravery, determination, and chivalry. Hufflepuff students are hard workers, patient, and loyal. Ravenclaw has brains, wit, and quick thinking. Slytherin works hard on their cunning, resourcefulness, and ambition. May the sorting hat sort you wisely." Miss McGonagall finished, and stepped down, picking up a large, worn down witches hat. It spoke. Gilbert stared, surprised.

"Ladies and gentlemen, if I may," The voice was gruff, and the hat growled on, saying a name at the top of the list he had memorized. A small girl with lavender eyes and pale white hair rose from her seat, and sat quietly on the stool. After a few seconds with the hat on her head, it shuddered.

"Slytherin." It continued on, going down a list, until it reached Gilbert.

"Gilbert Beilschmidt." Gilbert stood slowly, and walked forward, sitting timidly on the stool. The hat was set on his head, and he sat stock still.

"Ooh…" The hat groaned. "You're a difficult one, indeed…" After a few minutes, the hat finally spoke again. "This child is a hard-boiled Gryffindor!" Gilbert widens his eyes, and grins, running to join a group of already selected Gryffindors. Among them is a boy named Alfred, and a girl named Elizabeth, who Gilbert latched onto immediately. The three became good friends almost instantly. Alice was selected into Ravenclaw, and the two caught eyes, smiling briefly before parting ways.

* * *

Surprisingly enough for Gilbert, he had some classes with Alice. They would battle each other in smarts and physical strength. Gilbert would be the faster flyer in Flying; Alice would make the better potion in Potions. It was all in good sport, and although they couldn't eat together in lunch, they made time on the weekends to practice together or read. They became very good friends. For Christmas, they asked their parents if they could have a joint Christmas party, and the families agreed. Over the summer, they went exploring Diagon Alley, buying pranks and neat items on a whim. Gilbert was more of a pranks and collectors cards kind of fellow; Alice would buy neat sweaters and even found an invisibility charm to make her disappear. She bought one for Gilbert, and gave it to him at their next Christmas together. They were thirteen, and he responded by giving her a small kiss on her cheek.

It was a good Christmas.

* * *

It's the year before their last year at Hogwarts. A trial test comes up, called the Triwizard Tournament, and Gilbert almost immediately puts his name in the goblet, along with Alfred and Elizabeth, who also wanted to participate. Alfred was the one chosen, much to Gilberts jealousy, and there were two others chosen from the two other British schools; Madeline Williams from Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, and Ivan Braginski from Durmstrang Institute. Something peculiar, almost like sexual tension, rose between the trio, but Gilbert didn't notice. He watched the events with grinning pride, cheering on his friend as he sat between Alice and Elizabeth, who was too busy sucking off with her pianist boyfriend, Roderich, to notice the games. Gilbert asked Alice to the winter dance, and she said yes, which surprised him.

The night of the dance was hectic. Gilbert ran around his dorm, flustered at the thought of Alice. _What should I wear? What will she be wearing?_ He decided on a simple suit, tightening the tie until he almost suffocated. He left his room a few moments later, and began walking to a certain part of the school he knew by heart.

He reached the door to the tower, and knocked politely with the knocker. It spoke.

"A man went to a convent while the superior mother was out of town," it began. "He left before she returned, and left nothing behind. The nuns said nothing about his visit, yet their superior found out. How did the superior mother know that a man had stayed at the convent?" Gilbert was surprised at first, but thought quietly, before answering.

"He… Uh… He left the toilet seat up?" Gilbert said, already defeated. The knocker gave a hum of approval, before saying,

"Correct! You may enter." The door opened, and a surprised Gilbert moved forward, into the stairway. He found a sitting room at the top, and sat quietly, waiting.

Finally, a woman came down the stairs.

"Damn it, Sakura! If I don't leave now I'm going to miss-" She halted, staring at Gilbert on the couch. He stared back, wide eyed. Alice was beautiful. She had a mint green lace dress on, with white flats. Her glasses were perched on her nose, and her hair was up in a curled, tangled mess. She looked at him with wide eyes as well, but only because-

"What are you doing in the Ravenclaw commons, Gilbert?!" She whispered, looking around hastily. "How did you even get in?"

"…I somehow got the riddle right, I swear." He raised his hands in defense, and she jumps forward, flinging her arms around him. He then noticed the other girl behind her, a small Asian girl. She had dark hair and eyes, with pale skin. She wore a pale orange dress that goes to the ground, much like Alice's. He recognized her.

"Hey, aren't you Alfred's girlfriend?" He asked curiously, and she blushed and nodded.

"H-hai… I mean-"

"Don't worry, I know." He gave her a small smile, before Alice pulled back, smacking Gilbert repeatedly.

"What are you doing here, didn't I say I wanted us to meet at the library doors?" She chastised. He grabbed her moving arms, and chuckled.

"Calm down, Alice. I thought it'd be more nice and romantic or whatever if I met you here, alright?"

"I-I..." She looked up at him, wide eyed, before smiling, the tension leaving her shoulders.

"Thank you, Gilbert." He gave her a cocky smile.

"What kind of boyfriend would I be to let my lady get hit on by other guys as she walked down to meet me?"

* * *

At the ballroom, Gilbert and Alice revolved from dancing to resting for about three hours. They watched as Alfred danced with Sakura, before Alfred had the chance to ask Madeline to dance. The tall, burly man known as Ivan asked to cut in. Alfred backed up, giving the Russian a smile, and was about to leave, when Ivan grabbed Alfred.

"Nyet," His voice rumbled, "When I said I wanted to cut in, I did not mean I wanted to dance with Madeline." Ivan leaned closer, and Gilbert and Alice stared, surprised. "I want to dance with you, Alfred."

Alfred's face went stock red, and he pushed the Russian away.

"I-I'm not… I'm not…" Alfred took a breath, before squeaking out, "I'm not _gay!_"

"Hm, really?" Ivan grinned. "Neither am I."

"Then why-"

"I need your help with something, Alfred."

"Oh. Um, alright." Alfred reluctantly took the role of the girl, and they spun off, dancing easily, though their expressions were tense. Once the song was over, Ivan said something, and Alfred pushed him away, moving back towards Gilbert, Alice, and Sakura. Madeline had made her way back to her date, who was Francis, surprisingly enough.

Alice and Gilbert decided to dance some more.

She kissed him at the end of the night, and Gilbert felt like the luckiest guy in the world, if not the most surprised.


	12. Day Twelve: Runaway-Homeless

Je suis desole for not updating in like 5ever I've been hecka busy and unmotivated~~ BUT LOOK ITS SHORT BUT ITS HERE IM SORRY IM GOING TO UPDATE AGAIN SOON I SWEAR

* * *

Day Twelve: Runaway/Homeless

* * *

It is purely by chance that they crash into each other on the corner of eighty-third and Westwood. They only dimly know each other, having both attended the same high school in the Bronx, although they only had a minimal of classes together in the two years they have been going to the 'prestigious' academy. Their reasons for being out so late were exactly the same; they're both running away.

The girl, a short blonde named Alice, was one of the schools highest GPA students. She excelled in all of her classes – even French, which she despised. She participated in plenty of clubs, and was a part of the women's small bowling team. Her reason for leaving is because she has grown tired; eleven years of schooling really does take a toll on an achievers mind. She has become cynical, ill-tempered, and a bit of a know-it-all. Her family has tried her patience with trying to pick her career and life, and she's just grown so _exhausted_ with all of the work, she needs a bit of a break. She knows – _oh_, does she know – all of the pro's and con's to leaving her home and life, and she's willing to risk never getting up to prescription glasses or a big-paying job in order to live her life how she wants to.

The male, and albino named Gilbert, is nearly the opposite of Alice. He got horrid grades, barely ever showed up to class, and made snarky comments to all of his peers and teachers. He hung out with the grungy kids at school, and built himself a reputation upon nails and his kleptomaniac personality. The only thing he had a decent passion for was soccer, but his life in sports is now over.

His reason for leaving is much more personal; his father loathes him. After Gilberts' mother died, his father had hardened against Gilbert, who looks like his mother, and shied towards Gilberts' younger brother, Ludwig, in favor of his 'mistake'. For a year or two, Gilberts' grades exceeded his usual. He participated in everything, he made plenty of friends. But once he realized that wasn't going to get him any attention, he resorted to becoming mean, cruel, selfish, and a rather arrogant prick. Now, his father definitely gave him attention, but it was colder. Yelling, abuse, and continuous fights would jolt around the Beilschmidt household every night. The neighbors had resulted in calling the police a few times, and finally, just a few days prior to the boys 'break', Gilberts' father had decided to disown Gilbert. Gilbert decided he needed a plan, and it led to this moment, on the corner of eighty-third and Westwood, where Gilbert Beilschmidt ran into Alice Kirkland.

Alice's pale green eyes squint up at Gilbert. She knows about his reputation, and the fact that he is running around at this time of the night is suspicious; but Alice has more important things to take care of, and growls at the thought of him pick-pocketing her. _Is this collision purely coincidental?_

"Oh! Sorry, ma'am." Gilbert apologizes quickly, leaning down and hoisting her back up. She raises an eyebrow, and his cherry colored eyes widen. "Alice? What are you doing out here?" She's surprised that he knows her name, with his lack of presence in the one class that they shared. She tries to pull up an excuse.

"I'm getting my mother some more milk for her baking." Alice lies discreetly. Gilbert snorts.

"At two in the morning?" He asks. She rolls her eyes.

"I could ask you the same thing, Mister Beilschmidt. What are _you_ doing out in these _ungodly _hours of the morning?"

"Well, honestly, I'm getting on the three o'clock train to Memphis." She does a double-take. She finally notices the bulky duffel bag hoisted onto his shoulder, the dual layer of jackets he's wearing, and the look of grogginess painted over his face like an old china doll. He gives her the same sort of glance, and he sees her hair is back in a tight, strict bun, with a backpack on her shoulders. He gives a pitiful, hopeless grin.

"You too?" He asks. She blinks, and sighs, crossing her arms.

"I'm just tired of studying and working so hard for a future I don't want." He gives a head-heavy nod of approval.

"I know how you feel."

"What about you?" She asks hesitantly.

"My family hates me. I'm supposed to get disowned in this following week, so I'm leaving before it happens." Alice smiles wanly at the idea. Oh, how she wishes her family would hate her enough to want to get rid of her…

"So, where are you headed?" She questions more.

"I'm off towards Washington, Oregon, maybe." He decides quickly. "You?"

"…I haven't really thought of a destination, just the departure."

"Well, you wanna come with me?" She jerks her head back in surprise, giving Gilbert a peculiar glance. "I mean, it would be killing two birds with one stone! I can tell you aren't very… ah… street-wise. You would probably either die or get caught by the police on your own, not to mention you don't know how to steal, manipulate, and trick people into getting the necessary tools for survival. You're resources are very limited in that area. And, as well, I think I'd love myself some company."

"You say this as if you've been doing it all your life." She comments, thinking over the possibility of having a companion for travelling.

"Well, once you're in my position of everyone you know hating your guts, you come to terms with the fact that you're a lonely person."

"…Deal." A grin breaks across Gilberts face.

"Just what I hoped. We need to hurry, the train leaves in twenty minutes. You have money, right?"


	13. Day Thirteen: WW2-1940's

Hey look! I'm updating again, see? I won't leave you guys hanging for such a long time ever again. Sorry about that, again~

* * *

Day Thirteen: WW2/1940's

* * *

Alice doesn't care that he is a German. Alice doesn't care that he looks strange, with bright, blood red eyes and hair as white as cotton and skin nearly translucent. Alice doesn't care about a lot these days. She loves her boyfriend, Gilbert, with all of her heart, and although they send constant letters and have occasional phone calls, she loves to be affiliated in any way with her strange, German boyfriend. She lives in England, and he in Germany. She wishes, begs, _pleads_ to see him every day, forever, but with this bloody war going on, she absolutely never gets to see him.

_ 'January 23, 1941_

_ Dear Gil,_

_ I miss you dearly. I hope you are doing alright in Munich. I heard about the two other bombings in your town, I hope you are okay. I hope you are reading this. There's less tea in the stores, I had to resort to buying coffee. It doesn't taste the same. Wish you were here._

_ Love,_

_ Alice'_

* * *

Gilbert doesn't care that Alice is a Brit. He doesn't care that she's a bit of a bookworm, with round, silver glasses covering her eyes in the black and white photo he has of her, but he knows the green in her eyes and the blonde of her hair and the creaminess of her skin like the back of his hand. Although they live a days trip away from each other, Gilbert never can visit, mainly because any Germans leaving their town – let alone their country – have reason to be suspected of sinister plots. The last time he was in Liverpool, where Alice lives, was before the war, when they were sixteen. He's grown, and she's definitely grown, as shown in the most recent picture of her. She looks to still be petite and short, but her face is more angular, and she's filling in her clothing a little better. He looks down at his skinny, sleek frame, and he feels a twinge of jealousy – she's getting to eat well, unlike him – before he shoos it away. At least she's healthy. At least she's _alive._

_ 'February 3, 1941_

_ Alice,_

_ I miss you so much. I want you to be here I want to be with you, somewhere out of Europe, somewhere where we don't have to worry about this war and what others would think. I am glad you are getting well-fed, although the lack of tea is unfourtunate inopertune shitty. Ludwig has signed up for flight training; he wants to be a part of the war. I tried to tell him not to, but there's no stopping him. I just hope that they don't try to force me into the war, although I am not a blonde haired blue eyed wonder._

_ Love,_

_ Gilbert'_

* * *

Alice laughs at Gilbert's most recent letter. It's a surprise that he can still send letters outside of his country, not to mention countries against him, but she just sighs, and knows that he has his ways. He sent a new picture as well, although he's much skinnier than she remembers.

_ 'February 15, 1941_

_ Gil,_

_ Sorry I'm a little late for Valentine's Day. I went out and found some chocolate for you; I hope it doesn't melt in the envelope. I'm sorry to hear about your brother, and I hope he doesn't die does well in his efforts. Do you know where he is headed? My brother, Arthur, did the same. He's a soldier, battling on the French border. He hates it there, as said in his recent letter, although the food is good and he's made friends with a local waitress named Francine. I think he fancies her, but it's too early to tell. I hope he doesn't get hurt, he's a good man._

_ Love,_

_ Alice'_

* * *

Gilbert loves her optimism. She always says 'I hope', in almost every letter she sends. The chocolate didn't melt in the package, and Gilbert greedily wolfed it down, enjoying the sugary flavor. It wasn't as good as the chocolate he once used to get as a child, but anything'll do. Anything to remember those days.

_ 'February 28, 1941_

_ Alice,_

_ The chocolate was fine. Thank you. I miss you. God, I miss you. I want to see you so bad, it kills me to know that you aren't around me, but I would never wish upon you the hardships of living here. I'll give your brother his best, and tell him to be good and live wild, at the request of Gilbert. I once knew a man named Francis from France – ironic, I know – and he was the wildest, hairiest mother fucker I have ever seen. I miss him too. I miss a lot of people these days. I hope you are doing okay. I hope you don't get hurt, or die, or anything. I love you. God, I love you. Please, don't get hurt._

_ Love,_

_ Gilbert'_

* * *

His letter almost brings Alice to tears.

_'March 15, 1941_

_ Gil,_

_ I miss you too. We should leave to somewhere after the war. My brother loved your words of encouragement. I'm not going to be hurt any time soon, worry about yourself. I'm worried about you. You could get killed, for heaven's sake! I love you too, and if you got hurt, I wouldn't know what to do with myself._

_ Love,_

_ Alice'_

* * *

Gilbert cries at her words. He writes his final letter.

* * *

Alice loses hope after a few months. He has died, he is hurt, he got drafted into the war, he got caught sending her letters… But she doesn't stop sending them. She tells him about her new books, how the tea came back to her local grocers, how her brother returned from the war with a new girlfriend, how the war ended, how she met a rather annoying-yet-endearing American boy…

Finally, Gilberts letter arrives, with a German guest.

"Hello," The man says, "I am looking for an Alice Kirkland?" Alice looks at the man, whose blonde hair shines in the sun and blue eyes rival that of her boyfriends.

"That would be me. Would you like to come in?"

"Ja, that would be preferable."

He enters her household, and Alfred perks up.

"Who's this, darlin'?"

"I think it's just a guest." She can't place her finger on it, but he looks familiar. He's missing his pinkie.

"My name is Ludwig Beilschmidt." Alice gasps, and recognition flashes in her eyes; this is Gilbert's brother.

"Oh, yes! I've heard _much_ about you! Come, sit!" She forces the rather bulky and muscular German into a dining chair, and sits next to Alfred, before thinking better of it, and telling the American, "oh, your brother called. He wishes for you to return it as soon as possible." Alfred takes the hint and rises, giving a nod to Ludwig before exiting.

"Alice… I found this in my brothers' room. We finally looked through all of the refuse, and found this envelope, entitled to you."

"Refuse? What happened?" She asks worriedly, the final knowledge of what happened to him entering her mind.

"…He was shipped off to work on the Eastern border, against the Russians in the war. He never returned. The house was hit by a bomb."

The room goes silent for a few moments, and Alice stares blankly at the man in front of her.

"…You mean…?" Her voice is a hushed whisper, hoarse with the building tension in her body. She's shaking.

"Gilbert died in battle as a brave, noble soldier." Ludwig is quiet for a second or two, before he pulls out the old, crisped-around-the-edges package. Alice draws in a shaky breath, and her eyes water up. "Here, this is yours." Her hand reaches out and grasps it firmly. She opens it.

_ 'April 1, 1941_

_ Alice,_

_ It's time I tell you about my admission onto the Eastern front. I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to worry, but it's time I be serious about it; there are almost never survivors from the Russian border, and I probably won't make it out alive. I just want you to know that I love you, Alice. I love you, I love you, I love you. If I ever see you again, please, hit me back into reality. If Ludwig makes it out alive, tell him I love him, too. And your brother. And his little French girl. Tell them all I love them, and I'm rooting for them on this side._

_ I love you, Alice Kirkland._

_ See you soon._

_ Gilbert'_

Alice shudders, and a small whimper comes out before the storm. She curls into a ball on the chair, holding her legs tight to her chest, as quiet sobs ricochet through her small, frail body. Ludwig, unsure of what to do, sits and waits until she's finished – nearly fifteen minutes later – and she sniffs.

"He loves you." She states simply.

"He loved me. He loved you, too." He revises.

"No," She denies quickly, shaking her head, back and forth, back and forth. "He loves you. He loves me too. He loves us."

Ludwig doesn't bother to correct her.

* * *

A man with red eyes on the coast of Atlantis smiles, knowing his job has finally been completed.


	14. Day Fourteen: Pirate

Hello again! It's been a few days, but I finally have this! I hope you like it, it's very entertaining. I think this might be one that I continue...? :D

* * *

Day Fourteen: Pirate

* * *

Gilbert grew up in a… dislocated family, of sorts. His mother, Monica, was constantly gone, leaving his father to take hold of him and his brother. His father was always receiving letters from his mother, and when Gilbert turned sixteen, his mother returned, and took him away.

"Now, I shall explain to you the family business," His mother had informed in thick German from her horse. She had brought two, for the courtesy of Gilbert. He was extremely confused, as his father was a general produce seller in their town.

"What do you mean?" He asked slowly. She gave a grin.

"Patience, my dear boy," She had sighed, as if relishing in the name, as if it brought her some strange comfort, or it was the name of someone far off, faintly remembered, but long forgotten. "Patience."

* * *

The trip took four days to get to the French shore. His back ached, and his mind was exploding with thoughts. His mother was… a pirate? A pirate _captain?_ Surely, there _must_ be a misunderstanding! His mother was a _woman_, of all things; such a finesse being should be properly jobbed! She was ill-suited to be a pirate! He could tell that she meant business, though; her hair had been cut short, and no trace of powder or rouge was found on her features, natural, motherly beauty radiating off her slightly tanned skin. There was no chance of her cross-dressing, as her endowments prevented it permanently. Although she's dressed a man's dress shirt and trousers, it's obvious what gender she is.

"Why did you take me? Why not Ludwig? He _is_ the better sibling, after all…" Gilbert questioned. She smiles.

"'Better' is not what I need from a crewmember. I need someone who will pay attention when needed, and you give your father too much trouble. Much like me, in that aspect." She gives a small laugh. "But where there is crime there is punishment, so do not break any of the rules."

"Rules?" Gilbert squeaked, momentarily surprised at his mothers' affections.

"Oh dear, I forgot them, didn't I?" She hummed absently, before beginning. "Well, please call me Captain Monica when on deck. I don't need the other crewmembers knowing about our relation. I will not give you any special treatment, besides the necessary. I will not tolerate any tom-foolery, blatant dishonesty, and being out past curfew unless ordered to. Not following any of these orders will get a finger or two cut off." Gilbert gulped.

"Yes, mother." She gave him a glance, about to comment on how he had already broken a rule, when she sighed.

"Yes, I do suppose it is alright for you to call me mother when in private. But we're almost to the ship, so no more of that, alright?"

"Yes, Captain Maria."

"Good boy."

* * *

Gilbert easily adjusted to the life of the ship, and now sits, playing cards with his captains' right hand man, Antonio. Because of Gilbert's mothers' gender, Antonio pretends to run the ship for her, so she won't be underestimated and attacked. Antonio is a generally helpful and nice guy, and has a kid of his own waiting at home, a little boy named Lovino, who is currently being taken care of by Antonio's wife, Emma, and her elder brother, Abel.

Antonio is also a great story teller and describer, which is another reason why Gilbert has quietly latched onto Antonio as a father figure. Antonio has easily described his wife (blonde hair, green eyes, very pretty) and their child ('with my complexion and hair color, although his eyes are more of the green of Emma's than mine, and his hair is straight, like hers,'), and during their game of Gin Rummy, is explaining this one time he and a French friend of his wrecked utter havoc on shore at one point, getting kicked out of bars and flirting dangerously with countless girls. Gilbert loves the Spaniards stories, and can barely wait for his own.

A scream echoes from the lookout's nest.

"Ship off the starboard! Ship off the starboard!" The above crew members look over the right side of the boat, and sure enough, a ship is gliding across the water like a swan on glass. With further inspection, Antonio whispers to Gilbert,

"That's the Kirkland ship. It's run by Arthur Kirkland, a feisty Englishman who likes his tea the way he likes his blood; hot, and spilled on his trousers." Gilbert gives a short gulp, and a loud bang ricochets around the boat as his mother bursts through the door to the captains quarters.

"What is going on?"

"Kirkland's ship is over starboard, Miss." Antonio informs immediately, refraining from calling her Captain in public. Monica's eyes darken, and a small grin overtakes her face.

"How about we give them a little fear?" She says, determined. Antonio nods, and turns to the others.

"Prepare for attack!" He shouts. They all give great hurrahs and trample downstairs for weapons, leaving Monica, Gilbert, and Antonio above deck.

"Will he be okay, Captain?" Antonio asks worriedly. Monica looks to Gilbert, and gives a short nod.

"He'll be fine."

* * *

Soon, war has overtaken both ships. Gilbert can barely tell between his fellow crew and his enemy. He hasn't caught a glimpse of this famed 'Captain Kirkland' but he knows that if he does, it will most likely be his last sight. Still, that would be the pleasure to end all pleasures, at least in Gilberts mind. He has enough sanity to not go looking for the Captain, continuing to fight a trespasser. A loud vibration moves through his feet, and he hears someone shout 'Cannon!' before he is shot off of his feet, soaring through the air like a bird. The frigidity of the water clashes with the heat of his back, and he opens his eyes underwater, watching debris shoot into the water next to him. At first it's soothing, the lack of sound, the smooth sliding of the water against his body. But then, he remembers.

He can't swim.

Gilbert begins struggling in the water, trying to force himself to the waves, but it seems the efforts only take him lower and lower. Giving up, he begins to sink.

Suddenly, something spirals around him, and he comes face to face with a beautiful woman. Her hair is like shiny grain, long and billowing smoothly in the saltwater. Her eyes are an electric green, the color of fresh grass. Her skin is a milky color, and he longs immediately to touch her. He looks down, and nearly barks out the last of his air at the sight of her glistening green tail. A mermaid! She calms him, surprised at his shock of white and red; she has never seen white hair before on a person, unless they are an elder, although this man seems to be relatively young. Soon, she takes his hands, and starts pulling him upwards, towards the air. He seems in a daze, and almost feels like he's dancing with this strange woman.

They burst through the surface, and Gilbert begins coughing wildly. The woman begins hoisting him up, towards a lifeboat that was thrown out, and he's soon onboard the small ship. She leans herself over, careful not to tip the boat, and gets a good look at the man. He's handsome, although his hair and eyes are a surprising contrast to his fairly tanned body. His eyes open, and blend with hers for a moment, before he leans up and plants a soft kiss to her lips.

"Thank you," He whispers hoarsely, "Mermaid…" She gives what she believes a smile, revealing sharp, pointy teeth, perfect for eating fish. Not _humans_, of course. _Never_ humans.

"Alice," She responds, voice hilting and melodic, almost like a song within itself, "My name is Alice."

"I'm… Gilbert." He wheezes quietly, but she is gone, disappeared into the depths of the ocean.

* * *

The crew members don't believe Gilbert's story after he is hoisted back onto their ship. It's a little run down and damaged, but nothing a good scrub and some minor repairs can't fix. Captain Arthurs' ship had come and gone like magic, and once again they are alone in the water.

At first, Captain Monica seems to not care that her son almost died, acting indifferent and calm throughout his treatment (too much salt in his lungs and body, and a minor sunburn and scrapes). But afterwards, while Gilbert is resting quietly in his cabin, Monica bursts through the doors, hugging him tightly.

"Don't _ever _scare me like that, ever again. Do you hear me, Gilbert?" She growls, clenching him into a deathly grip. He barely notices her anguish, although the grip is strangling him and causing him to cough.

"Yes, Captain Monica." He answers smoothly, and is almost given a slap to the face.

"I am your _mother_, don't talk to me with such ease."

"But I am not afraid of you…" He replies hesitantly. The gaze in her eyes darkens, with a noticeable change in the way she holds herself. She looks almost appalled and offended, but something like revenge shows in her bright blue eyes.

"_You should be._"

* * *

They head towards shore to get the replacements ordered, and Gilbert is invited to tour the town with Antonio. Needless to say, Gilbert almost immediately says yes, and they begin walking, twisting through the streets with ease. Antonio winks at many girls, who giggle and flush at the thought of bedding a traveler who they would never see again.

"Why do you flirt so easily with other women, when you have your own at home?" Gilbert asks him quietly. Antonio laughs.

"Why, flirting is but being nice to others who you wish to court at a later date," the Spaniard responds happily. "I am only being generous, as I know for a fact that none of the women here could ever compete with my Emma~" Gilbert nods, not sure he understands what Antonio means. "Don't worry, mi amigo, your time will come."

They go to a bar. Gilbert becomes a little too fond of beer, and when they stumble home, Antonio laughing the whole way, Gilbert nearly falls onto his face multiple times. They finally reach the boat once more, and Antonio bears Gilbert goodnight, as the Spaniard is tired from the laughter and heartfelt stories. Gilbert plops down on the dock, and looks down at the water, admiring its beauty with calamity and peace.

A head perks up from the sea. Gilbert nearly shrieks and flies backwards.

"Hello, Gilbert~" Alice greets coyly, hoisting up her upper half to lean on the wooden dock.

"A-Alice? How did you find me?"

"Following a boat is rather easy, Gilbert. No time at all. I just had to wait for the perfect moment." There's something in her voice, a quiet reverberation, an accent almost English, but not at all at the same time.

"What _are_ you?"

"Well, I have a tail, and I live in the water, although half of me is almost human. I think you know what I am."

"No," Gilbert says sarcastically, "I thought you were a fairy." He gets back to the point. "It's your accent, what sort of accent is that?"

"It's Sea-ish." She explains, her voice almost rocking Gilbert to sleep, if not for the fact that she was a supernatural creature that held his attention constantly. "We evolved from the original mermaids in Sweden. They spoke Swedish, but after a few generations, it became a different language all together. I personally reign from the English shores, so I speak fluent English, with a bit of their accent, along with Sea-ish. But, now it's your turn," She gives a wolf-like grin. "What is your accent? I've never heard it before."

"U-uh…" Her eyes were upon him, dominating him like a prey to its meal. It frightened him, but he somehow felt a passion for it. "I-it's Germanic. I am from Germany. Prussian decent, of course." She nods, as if she knows what Gilbert is talking about. She has never heard of 'Germany' or 'Prussia', but for some reason wants to seem important and knowledgeable to this man.

"Why are your eyes such a miraculous shade of red?"

"It's a curse, I suppose. I was born like this. Is your tail a curse?"

"I was born like this as well."

They go back and forth, and learn bits and pieces about each other. Alice has no reason to lie, nor does Gilbert. Alice says that her father is a merman as well, and that he works with the law enforcement of her little city underwater. She doesn't know what reading is, but knows how to sing perfectly.

"I could show you, if you like~" She invites, wanting him to hear her. She wonders momentarily why she isn't just going for it, and why she hasn't sung for him already. She is _very_ proud of her talent. She could even say it has a bloody good finale. Gilbert shakes his head slightly.

"Actually, I think I need to go to bed soon, the sun is rising. My Captain will be worried." He gives a sheepish grin. She nods acceptingly, cursing herself for wasting so much time on this finicky, inexperienced German. But something about the way he smiles, and says goodbye; the way he blushes a little when she blows him a kiss; the way he stumbles up the ship and in through a door; it makes the chase worthwhile, in her opinion.

For him, she can wait. Although she's getting a little hungry.


	15. Day Fifteen: Asylum

Hey! Here's the next one! It's really sucky (in my opinion), and I might not be updating for a few days. I'm going to Sun Valley, Idaho, and might not have any internet or anything. We'll see~~

* * *

Day Fifteen: Asylum

* * *

Alice is growing suspicious. The male across the cash register from her has bought five bottles of pills in the past six weeks. The pills are cheap ibuprofen, and she knows their chalky blue color well, as she has a bottle of her own at home that she uses for her aching feet. He sheepishly hands her a five, and she raises an eyebrow.

"Are you in a lot of pain?" She asks, thick British accent rolling smoothly off her tongue. He jumps, as if he's surprised someone is actually talking to him. His bright red eyes momentarily connect with hers, before he looks down, and she knows he's about to lie. He seems to be lost in his thoughts, and she brings him back to reality.

"Huh? Oh, ah, yeah. My family has constant headaches n' stuff. Runs in the genes." He replies easily. _At least I didn't lie_, he thinks as he recalls earlier tonight when his fathers' yelling and anger sent him and his brother to their rooms with headaches from getting whacked on the head multiple times. He winces involuntarily. "Am I gonna get my change or what?"

She hands it over, and watches him walk away with a small limp, and she calls out to him. "Hey, wait!" She moves around the counter and paces swiftly towards him, determination reeking from her. He raises his head in question. A small smirk takes over his face, as a defense mechanic.

"You want my number or something, honey?" He jokes, a loud laugh emitting from his throat. She eyes his white hair, his pale skin dotted with a small amount of scars – most likely from cutting himself shaving, right? – and glances into his eyes, which are a cross between blood and cherries.

"Yes." He widens his eyes, surprised someone actually said yes to the invitation. _No one_ says yes. He gives the woman a once over – they both seem to be the same age, and she is rather pretty, with nice green eyes covered with glasses and blonde hair – and removes the receipt she gave him moments before, scrawling something on it with a pen they quickly find. She gives him a smile, and reaches for his hand, which he reluctantly gives. She shakes it simply, and writes her own number on his palm.

"If you need anything, just call me, alright?" She says, and he nods. "My name is Alice."

"I'm Gilbert."

"Pleased to meet you, Gilbert." They hold hands for a few more moments, before he pulls away, a small tint appearing on his ears. He exits, adrenaline running through his veins at the thought that if she would have just pulled his hand a little closer, pulled up his jacket sleeve, she would have seen the scars that littered his forearms.

* * *

Every other week, Gilbert comes to the store sometime in the seven o'clock hour, right when Alice's evening shift starts. They talk easily, and Alice notices more and more; that he wears a hoodie every time, and although this is Michigan, that's still very rare; he is quiet when buying the pills, which is usually the only thing he gets, though on some occasions he grabs a soda or some chips; that he doesn't like talking about family, although she had told him about hers. There are days, though, when he comes in just to visit, and although Alice adores the company, something about the way his eyes are hollow, and his face a little paler than usual makes her worry for her new friend. Finally, something snaps in her, and she asks about the pills.

"Why do you need so many?"

"In case… In case my father needs to take some for his joints." He admits. What he said was half-true; his father did use these for his bones. But Gilbert has something else planned for the pills. Alice nods slowly.

"… That's not the truth, is it?"

"Why does it matter?" He barks back, irritated, but completely takes back the action at her hurt eyes and embarrassed blush.

"I-I just… I'm worried. How big _is_ your family, anyways?"

"It's…" He tries to come up with a good answer, but shakes his head. "It's not important. I'll see you later, Alice."

"Goodbye, Gilbert."

* * *

Although Gilbert has her number in his phone, he hasn't made use of it yet. He doesn't need to. He doesn't want her to get too close. She is polite, which is perfect, because she won't enforce the call. Besides, where he's going, he isn't going to need a girl.

* * *

Alice is wondering quietly to herself about Gilbert, when he himself comes into the store. His movements are more hurried and frantic than usual, and he grabs the pills and is back to the register instantly. She slowly rings him up, watching his actions. He taps his foot; crosses his arms and then uncrosses them; looks around quickly before looking back down. He feels the need to hurry because tonight's the perfect night. His father is gone on business, and his brother Ludwig is away at a friends' house. He'll be all alone.

"What's got into you, Gilbert?" Alice asks curiously. He shakes his head quickly.

"Nothing. Nothing at all. I'm fine, Alice." He says it all hastily, and takes the presented bag when Alice is finished. "Keep the change." She smiles, but knows something is wrong. When he leaves, she waits for a few minutes, before calling him.

* * *

Gilbert is standing in the bathroom, multiple bottles of unopened pills before him like a display stand for some amazing cure to life. He hears his phone ring, but ignores it, listening to the voices in his head.

_'You aren't good enough.'_

_ 'Skinny little prick.'_

_ 'Selfish.'_

_ 'Asshole.'_

_ 'You don't deserve to live.'_

Gilbert opens the first bottle.

* * *

Alice is extremely worried now. She's called four times, and he hasn't picked up once. Something's wrong. But, she thinks to herself, what if she's just overreacting? What if he just fell asleep? One more try couldn't hurt.

She's surprised when he actually picks up.

"H-hello…?" His voice is blurred around the edges, a swirl of his own feelings emerging in his tone.

"Gilbert? It's Alice, are you okay? You don't sound so good…"

"I'm sorry, Alice… I'm so sorry. I hope you'll forgive me, please don't be mad." Alice hears the telltale sound of a shuddering breath, before Gilbert breaks into sobs. "I'm so sorry! Please don't be mad, please! Don't tell dad, don't tell dad!"

"Gilbert! Where are you? I'm coming over immediately!" She informs, moving the phone from her ear so she can pull her work apron off over her head.

"I-I'm at home… In the bathroom… God, those pills are so nasty, they should taste-" Sniff. "Better…"

"No, Gilbert!" Alice pleads. "What's your address?"

"Sorry, I need another bottle, I'll call you later… Bottoms up!" There's a small click, and the line is dead. Alice wastes no time in calling nine-one-one.

"Please, can you trace this number? My friend is in danger, but I don't know his address…"

* * *

Gilbert wakes up in the hospital. His head aches; he can barely feel his body. His eyelids are like bricks that he has to lift by his pinkies, but they open nevertheless. Sitting in the provided chairs are his brother, his father, an unknown woman, and Alice. Alice looks like she's been crying and he leans his head back down harshly, groaning at the pain. Unlike in stories and movies, he didn't forget what happened. He doesn't have a flash of memory after he awakens. He already knows that his plan failed. Again.

"How long was I out this time?" He whispers hoarsely.

"This time?" Alice asks accusingly, shooting a glance at his family members. His brother looks a little disorientated, but seems used to the ordeal. Gilbert's father, however, has a disappointed and irritated expression. Alice turns back to Gilbert, nose crinkling in what Gilbert thought of as cute, before his father answers.

"Two days. And yes, Gilbert has done this before." Gilbert's father has a rough, growly German accent, and it intimidates Alice a little, before she turns back to Gilbert. She takes in his wounded arms, from multiple cuts and IV's inserted into his limbs. She now notes that his face is slightly scarred from self harm, not accidental shaving mistakes. When his clothes got changed from his actual clothes to a hospital gown, she saw the large gashes on his back that he couldn't have made by himself. The woman stands.

"If you'll excuse me, I need to use the restroom." She leaves, and all of Gilbert's fathers disappointment, irritation, anger, hatred, and upmost annoyance poured out of the man in one long sigh.

"Damn it, Gilbert. I can't believe you did it again. You're making yourself into such a hassle. No wonder you're so worthless, why am I even paying for your hospital fees anymore?" Ludwig and Alice exchange glances, both wondering how he can be so bold about his child abuse when there's a near stranger in the room. Alice discreetly pulls out her phone. Neither of them moves to stop his accusations, and Gilbert doesn't make eye contact with any of them, looking at the ceiling.

"Answer me, damn it!" The father shouts suddenly, and the three younger adults flinch.

"I don't know, dad. Why don't you just pull the plug on me?" Gilbert answers back sarcastically. The older man growls.

"You worthless piece of shit, fucking-"

"Hey, you should watch your language, Mr." Alice blurts out, before blushing, shrinking back into her coat. Gilbert's dad whips around to her, rage in his eyes.

"And what are you going to do about it, slut?" Alice raises her eyebrows.

"…If you wish for him to stop doing this, or at least start getting better, you should stop being an asshole, you hear? This is America, sir, and what you are doing is called child abuse. It's a crime, you could go to jail."

"What, are you going to turn me in? I think I can take you."

"Actually, all I have to do is leave this room. I can tell any of the workers here, and they can direct me to the CPS."

"You don't have any evidence, girl. I suggest you leave."

"On the contrary, I have whatever Gilbert would say about this, and I have the proof on my phone. I haven't trusted you, and the minute you began talking, I pressed record. Would you like to hear?" Alice gives a small smile, confidence rising. "Now, I suggest you either apologize to your son – or sons, if I believe correctly – and change your act, or… I contact the authorities."

"You are one confident little bitch, but I know what I'm doing. Go run your errands, now, before you get hurt." A cool, calm smile overtakes both of their features, and the woman returns.

"Now, what have I missed?" She jokes, but by the looks on all of the others faces, she knows that there is no humor in the room. Alice gives her a winning smile. The father blanches a little, before growling.

"A lot, actually…"

* * *

The woman was Gilbert's guidance counselor. She quietly informs Alice of his 'predicament', and says that the proof she had recorded was all they needed to seal his fate. Gilbert suffers from depression, anger issues, anxiety, and has a record of being a sociopath. Gilbert is to be put immediately into an asylum, and be treated accordingly. Ludwig, on the other hand, is a perfectly fine child, as he insists he never suffered anything from his father.

"It seems that Gilbert took all of the blows for Ludwig, so Ludwig wouldn't get hurt." The two women look over at Gilberts dozing body, which is snoring lightly. He looks relieved, and peaceful. "But, because Mr. Beilschmidt was a safety issue, we also have to remove Ludwig from his custody. The brothers will be separated."

"Oh, no they won't." Alice denies immediately, and phones her parents, asking them if they're busy.

* * *

It's been a few months. Alice has settled down with her parents, who all accepted an embarrassed Ludwig into their family. She treats him like the brother she never had (although she has brothers, but they're all jerks). He quietly became used to the home, and every Friday after school, they visit Gilbert in the asylum.

He has plenty of fun in the home, with multiple others that the can relate with, and plenty of cute nurses to flirt with. But there will always be his Alice. She sits next to him in the art room, and he twists his pencil a little, nervous.

"Is this… for me?" Alice asks him hesitantly. Gilbert nods. Ludwig is missing at the moment, most likely visiting the young Italian girl who was admitted for schizophrenia. Alice picks up the canvas, and stares at the clash of red and green, somehow blended perfectly to form a golden-pink color before translating to the green. There's swirls and splatters; rips and added papers; multiple different art styles in one large masterpiece. It completely takes Alice's breath away. "I… I love it, Gilbert." Her eyes fill with tears, and she looks back at him. She sets the piece down, and reaches forward, pulling Gilbert into a tight hug. He grunts in surprise, but returns the affection after a few seconds. She grabs his head and kisses him, but he stays stock still this time, accepting the kiss with frozen nervousness.

"Thank God you're okay. I'm so happy you're alright." She whispers, and smooches him again, which he gladly returns the second time.

"Yeah," He says, breath a little shaky. "Yeah, yeah. Me too."


	16. Day Sixteen: Turn Of The Century

guess who's back

back again

laurenns back

tell a friend

* * *

Day Sixteen: Turn Of The Century

* * *

Thirty minutes until Y2K. Alice sits daintily on the soiled, nasty couch, wrinkling her nose at the thought of how many unthinkable things had happened on this college dorm couch. Alice has always been superstitious, calling it Y2K and all, but since she's a bit of an orphan, she can't really go hide in her parents basement.

* * *

Twenty-five minutes until the new millennium. Gilbert chugs a fifth can of beer, hollering from the kitchen with his best friends, Antonio and Francis. They all love their alcohol, and after another round, a small-but-feisty American, named Amelia, nudges Gilbert playfully.

"Who you gonna kiss at midnight?" She asks coyly, secretly hoping it's herself. Although Gilbert is different looking, Amelia thinks she has an 'acquired taste' for his thick mop of white hair and glowing red eyes, much like the rest of the girls at the community college. In fact, he is one of the most unrequited boys at the school, and is damn proud of it. Gilbert gives Amelia a grin.

"We'll see, Amy."

"It's Amelia~" She reminds, trying to convince herself that the incorrect name was the effect of his drinking. Francis curls up around Amelia, shying her away from Gilbert per his silent request.

"Come, Mademoiselle," Francis winks, "It's time for moi to show you a good time. No need to be hanging on that Allemand, I can be _plenty_ of fun~" Amelia pays no attention to his rebounding attempts, although something in his smile or the playful light in his eyes allows her to give him one dance. To the beat of 'Always' by Erasure, they joke and laugh and chat, and she eventually brings him to meet her friend, who hasn't moved from her spot on the couch for five minutes.

"Alice!" Amelia coos, flopping down next to her British friend. Alice gives a polite smile to her obviously drunk friend, but the smile falls once she sees the Frenchman still waiting for an introduction. His expression changes from curiosity to flirtatious harshness.

"Oh, bonjour, Alice~" Francis releases a smirk. Alice's mouth pulls into a tight line, and she readjusts her glasses. For whatever reason, Francis has been desperately trying to have a fling with the library aide, but Alice rarely gives the frog the time of day.

"Francis." She greets sternly.

"Oh, _Alice!_" Amelia butts in. "Francis and I were just having the time of our _lives_, and I wanted you to meet him!" She laughs loudly, but stops when she sees Francis's sly grin and Alice's apparent disgust at the blonde man. "Oh, do you guys know each other already?"

"Oui, Amelia. You could say our relationship is a little… _strained_. But no matter, it's impolite to talk of others when a très belle femme is already in front of me~" Francis pulls a giggling Amelia up from the couch, twirling and dancing her to the stairs that lead to the multiple dorms. He feels a sudden tug on his jacket, and turns impatiently, to find Alice.

"Do you wish to join us, Alice?" He asks eagerly. Alice slaps him lightly.

"If you harm one hair on her, or hurt her feelings," Alice warns, "I will bash your fucking head in. I swear on my mother."

"Alice, you don't have a mother."

"Screw you, frog!"

His laughter could be heard as he rose up the stairs, a waving Amelia in tow.

* * *

Ten minutes until the ball drops. Alice is back on the couch, watching others dance around her. She sees her quiet Canadian friend with a rather well-endowed Russian woman, who is whispering in his ear and causing him to blush. She sees the small Japanese girl she shares a class with cheering on the school's biggest jock, Amelia's brother, as he plays beer pong. She sees Francis's friend Antonio coming on to a first year Italian boy, trying to get the youngster to take a hit from Antonio's blunt.

She sighs heavily at the sight of so many people finding friends or romance, and curses herself for wanting to go home. Why did she let herself get dragged to this hellhole of a party?

After six minutes of deciding, she finally gets up, and heads to the kitchen.

* * *

Four minutes until 2000. Gilberts' eyes perk up at the sight of a newcomer. She is small, and rather wispy, like a doll. She wears a large school sweater and jeans, with her blonde hair back in a ponytail and rectangular silver glasses. She's gorgeous, but something about her reeks of boredom and irritation. Gilbert gives her a smile, and hands her a drink. Wordlessly, she chugs a few gulps, only to come back choking.

"First time?" He jokes. She rolls her eyes.

"… Thank you." He's surprised by her thick Yorkshire accent, but she continues to talk. "I needed that."

"Penny for your thoughts?" He asks, and she raises an eyebrow, before sighing.

"Yeah, alright." She pulls up a stool. "My friend just went upstairs with Francis Bonnefoy, and I really don't want to have to shave his head."

"Man, if you did that, I'd have to get you back for him. He'd be in tears over the loss of his hair." Gilbert snorts, and Alice giggles slightly. He stares for a moment.

"How come I don't know who you are?"

"You don't need to. I'm going to be gone when the party's over. You'll never see me again." In the distance, Gilbert hears people beginning to count down from fifteen. He gives Alice, the name he doesn't know, a grin.

"Oh, that's good."

"Why?"

"Because." He hears the number five, and sets his drink down, rounding around the table to stand in front of the girl he's picked. She begins to stand.

"You better not do what I think you're going to-" At one, Gilbert swoops down, planting a bitter, beer-filled kiss on Alice's lips.

* * *

Alice's first memory of January first, 2000, was kissing back momentarily. It was her first kiss, and she wanted it to count, for some part.

* * *

Gilbert's first memory of January first, 2000, was getting a fist forced into his face, causing him to stumble back and hiccup in surprise. It was the first time he had gotten punched by a girl, and _damn_, it hurt.

He kind of enjoyed it.


	17. Authors Note

Hello! This isn't an update (I'M SORRY MAN) and I just wanted to let you followers or w/e know that you all are great for just chilling out I guess and waiting patiently for an update. The next one is 'Plot of Your Favorite Book', and I will write it as soon as I get the book from the library.

It might be a few days.

Hope you can stay sedated until then!


	18. Day Seventeen: Plot Of Your Fave Book

Sorry I haven't uploaded in so long! I've started school (frick i wanted to get this all done before school started god dammit) and been rather pushed with schoolwork and stress uwu

hopefully all of your guys school years have started out pleasantly enough!

The book I used for this was 'Memoirs of a Teenage Amnesiac' by Gabrielle Zevin. It took soooo long for the book to come via mail order library, but was definitely worth it! The main plotline is owned by Gabrielle Zevin (along with the way i worded a lot of things frick im so bad) and I hope you enjoy this! It's more of an excerpt than an entire story, because I didn't want to write the entire thing out undescriptively as that would do it no justice whatsoever. I suggest you go and read the book as well, if you haven't already! its really worth it!

Well, enough of my jabber, here's the oneshot!

* * *

Day Seventeen: Plot Of Your Favorite Book

* * *

If things had been different, she'd be called Aubergine or Agatha, and she'd have a British accent and complain about the weather year round. Maybe she'd even be a street kid who'd trade you just about anything for a pair of blue jeans. But she is not Aubergine or Agatha, because at six months old she was delivered from Liverpool, England, to Brooklyn, New York. She doesn't remember the trip or ever having lived in England at all. What she knows about her orphanhood is limited to what she's been told by her parents and then by what they were told, which was sketchy at best: a week-old baby girl was found in an empty typewriter case in the second-to-last pew of a Western Orthodox Church. Was the case a clue to her biological father's profession? Did the church mean her birth mother was devout? She'll never know, so she chooses not to speculate. Besides, she hates orphan stories. They're all the same, but most books are bursting with them anyway. You start to think everyone in the whole world must be an orphan.

She can't remember a time when she didn't know she was adopted. There was never a dramatic "we have something to tell you" talk. Her adoption was simply another fact, like having blonde hair or no siblings. She knew she was adopted even before she knew what that truly meant. Understanding adoption requires a basic understanding of sex, something she would not have until third grade when Anya Braginski brought her grandparents' disturbingly dog-eared copy of _The Joy of Sex_ to school. She passed it around at lunch and while most everyone else was gagging with the realization that their parents had done _that_ to make _them_ (so much hair, and the people in the drawings were not one bit joyful…), Alice felt perfectly fine, even a little smug. She might be adopted, but at least her parents hadn't degraded themselves like that for her sake.

You're probably wondering why they didn't do it the old-fashioned way. Not that it's any of your business, but they tried for a while without getting anywhere. After about a year, Mom and Dad decided that, rather than invest about a billion dollars on fertility treatments that might not work anyway, it would be better to spend the money helping some sob story like Alice. This is why you are not, at the very moment, reading about the inspiring true account of a Liverpudlian orphan called Aubergine, who, things being different, might be named Alexis or Alice.

Truth is, she rarely thinks about any of this. She's only telling you now because, in a way, she was born to be an amnesiac. She has always been required to fill in the blanks.

But she's definitely getting ahead of herself.

* * *

Alice received a letter once she heard about her (for lack of a better term) accident from her best friend, Al, who she'd forgotten about at the time. (She didn't find it immediately; it was slipped in the sleeve of a mix CD.) He had inherited a battered black typewriter from his great-uncle Desmond who'd supposedly been a war correspondent, though Al was unclear which war it had been. There was a dent on the carriage return that Al theorized might be from a ricocheting bullet. In any case, Al liked composing letters on the typewriter, even when it would have been much easier to send an e-mail or call a person on the phone. The boy wasn't antitechnology; he just had an appreciation for things other people had forgotten.

'Chief:

The first thing you should know about me is that U remember everything, and the second thing is that U'm probably the most honest person in the world. U realize that you can't trust anyone who says that they're honest, and knowing this U wouldn't normally say something like that about myself, U'm only telling you now because it's something U feel you should know.

Un an attempt to make myself useful to you, U have assembled a timeline of the events leading up to your accident, which you may or may not find helpful, but you will find below.

6:36 p.m. Alice Williams and Alfred Jones, co-editors of the nation-award-winning Thomas Purdue Country Day School yearbook, leave the offices of _The Phoenix_.

6:45 p.m. Williams and Jones arrive at the student parking lot. Williams realizes that they have left the camera back at the office.

6:46 p.m. Discussion ensues regarding who should have to return to the office to retrieve the camera. Jones suggests settling the matter with a coin toss, a proposition which Williams accepts. Jones says that he will be heads, but Williams states that she should be heads. Jones concedes, as oft happens. Jones flips the coin, and Williams loses.

6:53 p.m. Jones drives home; Williams returns to _The Phoenix_.

7:02 p.m. (approx.) Williams arrives at _The Phoenix_ office where she retrieves the camera.

7:05 p.m. (approx.) Williams falls down the exterior front steps at school. Williams strikes head on bottom step, but manages to hold on to the camera. Williams is discovered by one Gilbert Beilschmidt.

As U mentioned to you, U am always available to answer any other questions as they might arise.

U remain your faithful servant,

Alfred F. Jones

P.S. Apologies for the "U" [i] key. Hopefully, you've figured out by now that the thing that looks like a U is actually the letter "U". There's a defect in my typewriter such that every time capital "i" is pressed, "U" comes down instead.'

* * *

When Alice woke up in the infirmary, the room was empty. She recalled a slight amount of what happened, but not everything. She remembered being in an ambulance, two paramedics above her and one boy standing outside the van, doors open, about to get in. He looked older than she can remember what she looked like, but then again, how old was she? When she asked who he was, he said his name was Gilbert, and hopped into the van, saying he was her boyfriend.

"It's my fault you're in here," he had said in a low leveled German accent, "and it wouldn't be polite to leave you alone with complete strangers." His expression was thoughtful, almost like he was going to say something, but he didn't, and she complained that she was tired and that her head hurt. The technicians forced her to stay awake, and although she couldn't recall this boyfriend named 'Gilbert', she clasped her hand around his for comfort. He didn't pull away. He tried telling a joke, but she was hit with a large amount of pain, and didn't hear the punch line.

In the emergency room, two doctors and a nurse – maybe more, she can't remember – checked over her wounds. She knew she was bleeding from the head, and the doctor asked how long Alice was out before the ambulance arrived. Gilbert said twenty-one minutes. He knew exactly. After the doctors left, another set came in, to ask Alice some relatively general questions.

"Your full name?"

"Alice Paige Williams."

"Where do you live?"

"Tarrytown, New York."

"Good, Alice, good. What year is it?"

"Two thousand and… 2006, maybe?"

Even as she said it, she knew it wasn't right. Because if it was 2006, she'd have been twelve, and she knew for sure she wasn't twelve. She didn't feel twelve. She felt… She couldn't say the exact number, but she just knew she felt older. Seventeen. Eighteen. She didn't feel twelve either. And there was Gilbert – Gilbert looked at least seventeen, maybe older – and she felt the same age as him, the same as him. She looked from doctor to doctor to nurse; poker faces, every one. One of the doctors said not to worry, which made Alice worry, of course. When the doctors left, she heard some worrisome phrases: "mild traumatic brain injury" and "specialist" and "CT scan" and "possible retrograde amnesia." Alice listened until she couldn't hear them anymore and then decided to concentrate on matters more tangible.

Gilbert always said how ugly he was, but Alice thinks he must have known that he wasn't. The worst that they could ever say was that he was too skinny, and that he was a little different colored than others; his hair was white, and his eyes were a gorgeous shade of red.

Now this 'Gilbert' was standing in her room, and she stared.

"Sorry, I had to use the pisser." He explained, and it hurt her head to laugh, but she did so anyways to be polite.

"Talk quieter, Gilbert… What happened? Where am I?"

"Honestly, all I remember is you diving towards me after a camera. You hit your head pretty hard on the stairs. The camera is safe, by the way. Hope it was worth it."

"Why did you say you were my boyfriend? Are you my boyfriend?" Alice asked.

"Heh, you remember that?" He gave an embarrassed smile. "Well, no, I'm not. We don't know each other at all, actually. I just said that in order to ride with you. Being alone in an ambulance is not a position you want to be in." His face regained that thoughtful look, and she questioned it as well. "Back then, I was wondering if I should have kissed you to try and better convince the drivers, but you were a little dazed, and I wouldn't want to make you, y'know, barf or anything. Not to mention it would be rude, as I don't really know you. I was also thinking about when you woke up, if I would be able to get away with saying you were my girlfriend, and how long you'd believe it for…" He gave a small chuckle, and the door opened, revealing Alice's father.

Gilbert immediately stood and tried to introduce himself to Alice's father, but the man just moved past him and onto his daughter. The doctors returned, with a nurse, a specialist, and an orderly who began wheeling Alice away without even bothering to tell her where, and her father was hovering over her, spewing phrases at her. And once she controlled her look onto her father – who looked a lot older than she remembered – Gilbert vanished, something she'd soon know was a keen trait of his.

* * *

When she got settled in a different, private room, her father sat next to her. He passed the time by asking if she was okay. "You okay, kid?"

"Yes, Dad."

Five seconds later, "Kiddo, are you okay?"

After a few repetitions, Alice finally snapped, "Where's Mom?" She was better than Dad with these situations.

"In the city," he answered.

"Is she working?"

"Working?" Her father repeated. "She's… She… Alice, are you trying to worry me?"

"Dad, are you screwing with me?"

"_Screwing_ with you?"

"Sorry. Playing with me, whatever."

"Are you _screwing_ with me?" Dad asked.

"So you can use screw and I can't? That doesn't seem fair," Alice protested.

"I don't care if you use the word screw, Alice. But is that what you're doing?"

"I'm not screwing with you! Just tell me where Mom is."

"In N.Y.C." He pronounced everything slowly, as if she didn't understand. "New York-"

"City. Yes, I know what N.Y.C. stands for. But why?"

"She lives there. Since the divorce. You can't have forgotten that."

You can guess that Alice definitely had.

If you're a wine-drinking type, you might have heard of Alice's parents. They wrote a series of travel memoirs/coffee table books called _The Wandering Williams Do…_ and then fill in the blank with the exotic locale of your choice, like Morocco or Tuscany. Alice's mom, Madeline, took the pictures, and her father, Matthew, wrote the text, except for the occasional footnote by her mother.

That's what popped into Alice's head when her dad said they were divorced – all those Wandering Williams books and her as a kid on the back flap.

Alice tried to find the last thing she remembered from before the accident, but that idea was utterly useless, because the mind is constantly making new memories, and gave her an unneeded answer; her name when the doctor asked her what it was. She tried a more specific thought; the last thing she remembered about her mother. What appeared was her mother's "Sign of the Times" show, which was an exhibition of her photographs at a Brooklyn gallery. She had picked Alice up on the last day of sixth grade, so that she could give her a private showing before anyone else got there. The show had consisted of Madeline's pictures of signs from around the country and the world: street, traffic, restaurant, township, movie theater, bathroom, signs that were painted over but you could still make them out, signs handmade by homeless people or hitchhikers, ect. Alice's mother had this theory that you could tell everything about people (and civilization in general) from the kinds of signs they put up. For example, one of her favorite pictures was of a mostly rusted sign in front of a house somewhere in the backwoods. The sign read 'NO DOGS NEGROS MEXICANS'. She said that, regardless of the rust, it had communicated to her clear as anything "to take the picture quick and get the hell out of town".

"So is she on her way, then?" Alice asked her father.

"I didn't think you'd want her here."

"She's my mother," Alice insisted, "of course I want her here."

"The thing is" – Matthew cleared his throat before continuing – "I called her, but since you haven't really spoken to each other for a while, it didn't seem right that she come." Alice's father furrowed his brow. "Do you want me to call her back?"

Alice did. She longed for her mother in the most primitive way, but she didn't want to seem like a baby or not like herself, whatever that meant. And her and her mother not speaking? It seemed so unbelievable to her and more than she could even begin to figure out in her current state. Alice needed time to think.

"No," Alice relented, "you don't need to call her." Matthew's brow unfurrowed.

"Well, that's what I thought."

Alice and her father ended up making a list of everything she had forgotten (her father adores lists; he believes anything can be accomplished, the ills of the world cured, so long as it's written down and assigned a number). The list included number ten: Alice's boyfriend.

"I have a boyfriend?" Alice thought about Gilbert briefly.

Dad looked at her. "Francis. He's still away at tennis camp."

Her dad was up to nineteen when a nurse came into the room to wheel her away for the first of many tests.

* * *

Alice's been in the hospital room for three days. An army of mean nurses would wake her up every few hours by shining a light in her eyes. All she wanted to do is sleep, but no one would let her. Besides that, her time was occupied by taking tests, ignoring her father's incessant list-making, and wondering is Gilbert Beilschmidt might visit.

He didn't.

Alice's first visitor was Alfred Jones. Visiting hours began at eleven on Fridays, and Al showed up at 10:54. Matthew had gone outside to call a few folks, so no one was around to tell Alice who the teenage boy in a worn-in bomber jacket was.

"Nice save, Chief!" Al said as he entered the room. Alice asked him what he meant, and he explained about her rescue of the yearbook camera. "Not a scratch on it. Really going above and beyond the call of duty there," he added.

Despite his questionable clothing choices, Al was not the least bit fussy or wimpy. When Alice asked him about the jacket, he claimed to wear it ironically, "as a way to entertain myself in the face of the daily monotony of school uniforms." He was compactly built, taller than Alice (she was five feet seven inches, and he was five feet nine), but solid-looking. He had straight blond hair and sunny blue eyes, the color of the sky or a robin egg. His eyelashes were very long and looked as if they had been coated with mascara even though they hadn't been. On that day he had light dark circles under his eyes, and his cheeks were flushed. If he seemed loud or cavalier about Alice's condition, she suspected that that was to hide his concern for her. Alice liked him immediately. He felt comfortable like broken in jeans, and it goes without saying that Gilbert had a quite opposite effect on her.

"Are you Francis?" Alice asked, remembering what her father had said about her having a boyfriend. Al removed his gold rectangular-framed glasses and wiped them on his pants, something that would later be known as something Al did when embarrassed.

"No, I'm not," he said. "Francis is about two inches shorter than me. Also, he's your boyfriend." His eyes flashed something mischievous. "Okay, so this is deeply wrong. I want it on the record that you are acknowledging that this is deeply wrong before I even say it."

"Fine, it's wrong." Alice said.

"Deeply–"

"_Deeply_ wrong."

"Good." Al nodded. "I feel _so_ much better that you don't remember him either. Your man's a tool not to come. No offense."

"Leave. Right now," Alice joked in a stern tone. "You have gone too far insulting Francis… What's his last name?"

"Bonnefoy."

"Right. Bonnefoy. Yeah, I'm really outraged about you insulting the boyfriend I don't remember anyway."

"You might later and if that's the case, I take it all back. He'll probably still come, visiting hours only started a minute ago." Al said encouragingly.

"Dad said he was still at tennis camp."

"If it were my girlfriend, I would have came back from tennis camp."

"Who's your girlfriend?" Alice asked.

"Don't got one. I was speaking hypothetically." Al chuckled and stuck out a hand. "Introductions are in order. My name is Alfred Jones, the Co-editor of _The Phoenix_. Incidentally, you're the other one. Your dad said you had forgotten some things, but I didn't suspect _I'd_ be one of them."

"Are you that memorable?"

"Pretty much, yes." He nodded decisively.

Alice asked him if her 'best friend' really wore a bomber jacket and he insisted that he knew everything about her. She asked him how her face looked. He responded that it was mostly covered in gauze, and she insisted he looked under it.

"There are nine stitches, a raised knob right below that, probably the size of a Brussels sprout, and a larger bruise spread out across your forehead. Doesn't look permanent, maybe a little scar from the stitches." He put the gauze back into place. "You're still insanely, wickedly, unfathomably gorgeous, and that's the last I'm gonna say about it, Chief."

She thanked him, and asked about Gilbert Beilschmidt. Al said that he was new this year, and that he might have gotten kicked out of his last school.

"I don't know much 'bout him, only met him this morning when he dropped off the camera at _The Phoenix_. He was polite as anything. Guy isn't like Francis Bonnefoy." He paused. "Or me."

He gave her a CD, and rattled off about how he was under time constraints and that the next one would be better. When Alice's mother arrived, surprisingly, he greeted her politely, and took his leave. When Al left, Madeline burst into tears.

"Where were you?" Alice asked.

"Your dad told me not to come, that you didn't want me. But how could I not come?" She looked at Alice. "Your poor head." She tried to hug Alice, but Alice pulled away, wanting to know a few things.

"You and Dad are divorced." Her mother nodded. "Why?"

Her father entered the room. "Yes, tell her, Maddie."

"…You were twelve when I ran into Leon. It was just by chance."

"Leon?" Alice questioned.

"Her high school boyfriend," Matthew answered.

"Just by chance," her mother repeated, and began describing the scene, but Alice didn't want the details.

"I had an affair," Her mother finally released.

"I got pregnant."

"Your dad and I divorced."

"I married Leon and moved to the city."

"You have a three-year-old sister."

"Sister?" This was new to Alice. Sisters were something other people had, like mono or ponies. "But I thought you couldn't have children. Sister?"

"Yes, her name is Mei."

"Are we close?"

"No," Madeline said, "You refuse to see her."

Alice couldn't think of anything to say.

"It's probably a lot to hear at once," her father said.

"How are you feeling, cupcake?" Her mother's voice was high and whispery, like she was floating away.

"About what? Which part?"

"Everything, I suppose." Her mother's eyes were wide and expectant.

"I feel like…" Alice looked away. "I honestly feel repulsed. I honestly feel like you're a slut."

"Alice." Her father whispered urgently.

"What?" Alice responded. "She is. Women who cheat on their husbands and get pregnant are sluts."

Madeline stood up and started backing away from the bed, not able to look Alice in the eye. "I understand," she said, "I understand." She began repeating it quietly, and her dad escorted her out the door.

Alice was sent home on Monday.

* * *

When they went home, Alice began looking for her dad's red truck in the parking lot, but when they reached a little white compact car, she looked at it incredulously. When they reached their home, it was a different house, and she looked at it incredulously as well. She went to her room (some of the same furniture, but that was the only extent of remembrance) and slept. She woke up for lunch and again for dinner, but when she arose at eight that night, she felt braver.

She had been avoiding her reflection while at the hospital. It may sound like vanity, but she believed that wounds are like water set to boil; they heal best left unwatched. Now, though, she was ready. She wanted to reacquaint herself with herself once more.

It was what she was expecting. Even though she lost six years of memories, she never really thought that she was twelve. Alice just knew she was older. Her face was a bit shocking (not because of the injuries, Al had been pretty accurate on that front, and the colors were changing, which she interpreted as healing). Her face overall, looked like someone she knew, a cousin maybe, but not her. The hair was about the same length, halfway down her back, and her green eyes pale.

"Hello," She greeted herself. "I'm Alice." The girl in the mirror didn't seem convinced.

Alice decided that mirrors were useless, and put a T-shirt on that she found.

She opened her closet (very organized, with school uniforms and gym clothes and shoes) and found a black velvet dress for a formal she didn't recall. She decided to put it on. It was a little tight around her breasts, and she realized she must have grown since the last time she wore it. She didn't bother zipping it all the way up. She wondered what the formal was like, who she went with, what they got her as a corsage, _if_ they got her a corsage, or if she just went with friends, or if it was a formal at all.

She found some yearbooks, and started with seventh grade. Throughout all of them there was nothing important; some got taller, some got skinnier, some blossomed, everyone graduated. Alice read through the signature of each yearbook, all with the same phrases. 'Have a great summer'. 'Don't forget me'. 'Keep in touch'. The only interesting signatures were Al's, and it wasn't really a signature. On the inside back cover of her ninth and tenth grade books, he had drawn a neat box around the perimeter. Above both boxes were the words "This page is reserved for Alfred F. Jones to do with what he will." He hadn't yet used it.

Alice only found herself three times in the most recent yearbook. Her class photo, with light blonde (gray in the book) hair. The second was the varsity tennis team photo, which she wasn't in in the first place. Lastly was the yearbook masthead, which is why she wasn't in any pictures, as she was taking most of them. She put the books back on the shelf.

She went through her drawers. She found birth control pills ('_I'm having sex with someone?_' she wondered, shocked) and a diary, which would have been beneficial, had it not been a _food_ diary, detailing everything she's eaten in the last six months. Alice felt disgusted, because really, who keeps a food diary?

She went through her backpack. She found a drivers license, and in the picture she was wearing her school uniform (at least the shirt) and braces, which she didn't have currently. She found her phone, which was dead, so she plugged it into its charger and turned it on. Suddenly, she wanted to call her mom, and she did.

A little tiny voice answered. "Hi there! You are speaking to Mei Chun, and I have just learned how to answer the phone."

This was Alice's sister. She hadn't been prepared for that, and for a second, couldn't speak.

"Hello? Is anyone there?"

"It's nobody." Alice wanted to hang up. She suddenly wanted to cry, but couldn't, for some reason.

"Hi, Nobody! Do you like to read?"

"Yes."

"Have you read _Goodnight Moon_?"

"Yes." Alice's mom used to read it to her when she was little.

"That's my seventh favorite book. It used to be fifth, but is now too easy. They have your name in it. There's a part that goes 'Goodnight, Nobody,' and this is my second favorite part in my seventh favorite book."

Alice heard her mother's voice in the background. "Is someone on the phone, Mei?"

"It's Nobody!" Mei yelled.

"Then hang up the phone, sweetie! It's time for your bath!"

"I have to go now," Mei said, "Bye-bye, Nobody. Call again, 'kay?"

"Okay."

Alice hung up the phone and felt lonelier than ever. All she wanted to do was sleep.

Which is what she did for about a week, maybe two.

It was easy to lose track of time.

* * *

Alice woke to three taps on her window. She sat up and pulled back the curtains, to see Francis Bonnefoy in the darkness. She now knew his face from in her wallet and yearbooks and picture frames on her desk, but in reality, the contrast between her "boyfriend" and her "pretend boyfriend" – Gilbert – was almost humorous.

Francis wore jeans, like Gilbert had, and a warm-up jacket. On Francis though, everything was a tad bulkier. Alice knew that underneath Francis's jacket was definitely not a faded band tee, like what Gilbert had worn. Francis's hair was a smooth honey color, long enough to be put in a ponytail (as current) but short enough so that he didn't look like a stereotypical hippie. He was very clean, as well. He was lean, but not lanky. And handsome, Alice supposed, but almost in an exaggerated way. Everything was too precise, too perfect. If someone had asked her at that moment, she would have said, "Definitely not my type."

Alice opened the window, and his legs swung in with such suave, casual grace, that she knew he had entered her room this way before.

The first thing he did was kiss her. On the lips. He didn't ask permission either.

Alice couldn't recall Francis ever having kissed her. She couldn't recall _anyone_ ever kissing her. So, in a way, this was Alice's first kiss.

He tasted like a combination of mints and wine (could have been worse, she supposed), and his tongue was eccentric and too much in her mouth. The nicest thing she could say about it was that it ended quickly. Francis pulled away, but was still sitting on the bed, close to Alice.

"You really don't remember me, do you?" He had a slight accent, from where she couldn't place.

"No, but I know who you are. You're my…" Francis looked at Alice hopefully, but she couldn't bring herself to say the word. "My…"

"Boyfriend," he finished. "Francis." She figured out that his accent was French, unsurprisingly.

"Yes, my boyfriend."

"Je suis désolé I didn't come earlier, It's just…" He slipped into French, and Alice just nodded and responded once she heard the word 'tennis'.

"You play tennis? I do, too." Alice was just trying to make conversation. She already knew that, of course.

"I know you do, mon amour. That's how we met. Tu es bon," he suddenly thrust his hand to his chest, above his heart, and clenched the fabric there. In the quick and immediate movement, Alice had jumped lightly. "J'ai gelé! I should have left early. I should have come!"

"It's fine, Frank."

"My name is Francis." He whispered.

"I know that." Alice had no idea why she called him Frank. She knew his name, but she must have been momentarily stunned by the self flagellation.

He cleared his throat and changed the subject. "Oh, and I saw these in the gym store, and thought of you~" He pulled a pair of white terry cloth tennis wristbands out of his pocket. Alice wondered what about her screamed _tennis sweatbands_ to him. Was it a joke? She could tell by his mouth – pink lips curved into a wan, considerate looking smile – that it wasn't. It certainly wasn't the most romantic gift ever, but it was obvious the fellow meant well, so Alice put the wristbands on.

"Elles semblent bonnes," he said. Alice walked over to her closet mirror under the pretense of looking at her new wristbands, but she actually studied Francis's reflection. She was trying to figure him out, and that's always easier when the person doesn't know you're looking at them. His eyes were tired, but he seemed pleased that she was wearing his gift. Maybe there was wistfulness in his gaze, of maybe the pills in her drawer, but Alice suddenly realized that she had probably had sex with him before. She also decided that she didn't want to talk with him about this just yet; she didn't know where that conversation might lead.

She finally turned away from the mirror and kissed Francis, as if she could figure it out that way. His lips were soft, but his chin was sandpaper against her face, a little five o'clock shadow she hadn't seen rubbing her jaw. When she pulled away, she feigned a headache, and Francis took his leave through the window once more.

Her father entered after Francis left, and said he was going out to get some coffee. It was 9:30 p.m.

Alice decided to listen to the mix that Al made her. She called him. He was happy – overjoyed, by the sounds of it – that she called, and he explained some of the songs and the reasons that he put them on there. The first one, 'Fight Test', was about how they met, back in ninth grade, when he mentioned the type of style she had accidentally placed in a yearbook page, when a picture was too big for the typing and only one sentence or word remained on the page as the rest got shoved to the next page.

"I had said 'sucks about the orphan', and you gave me this death glare. You thought I was talking about how you were adopted. I repeated the phrase, and you said 'screw you,' and it might have gone on like that forever except I replied with, 'I'm talking about the copy.' You laughed and said, 'Yeah, I think I'll make the picture a little smaller to get rid of it.'"

"What does this song have to do with how we met?" Alice asked. Al sounded a little sheepish over the line.

"Well, I didn't exactly have a lot of time to put the mix together, but I always associate that song with you and how we met. Don't you ever do that?"

"Sometimes, maybe."

They eventually said goodnight, and Alice listened to the song again, and fell asleep for thirteen hours.

* * *

A few days before school started, Alice and her dad decided to see if she could still drive.

She couldn't. They were almost out of their driveway when an SUV nearly smashed them in half.

She was dropped off on her first day, with her father handing her a pair of sunglasses in a black box from her mother. Alice had been suffering from heightened light sensitivity, so she couldn't help but take the glasses. She told her dad to throw out the box and the note. She left the sunglasses on. Just because her mom was a gigantic slut was no reason to pass up a perfectly good pair of shades.

She had trouble opening her locker. A friendly girl explained how she needed to make an extra clockwise turn before stopping at the final number, and Alice recognized her as Sakura, a girl who used to be a small Japanese kid in her sixth grade class with long black hair that was constantly in two braids. Now, though, her hair was dyed cranberry-red, and she wore black worker boots with her school kilt, and rainbow socks underneath. Alice asked if they were still friends, but Sakura said that they had drifted apart.

In her first class, precalculus, she sat behind a boy named Heracles, and in quiet words, he said that he was also on the yearbook staff, before leaning forward and falling asleep. The teacher called Alice out on her sunglasses at the end of the period. She had American History next, and got lost on her way to English, but when she arrived, Mrs. Jones embraced her like a long-lost child.

"Alice Williams, we were so worried about you!" Her hold was surprisingly tight for such a small woman, and she couldn't have been more than five feet one. She had Al's bright blue eyes, crooked smile, and tan skin. Her hair was a more reddish blonde, and it rained town her back in layers. The nameplate on her desk said 'Amelia', and the name suited her: girlish, but old-fashioned; sweet and open like an apple. Mrs. Jones explained how Al was home sick today, as he worked too hard for his stomach, and afterwards showed Alice her seat, and got started with the class.

She had the class read _Waiting for Godot_ aloud, with assigned parts. One of the speakers was Anya Braginski, who had been in Alice's sixth grade class as well. She wore maroon Mary Jane platforms – in a school with uniforms, you should always check their feet for clues.

Alice ended up falling asleep in the class, and Mrs. Jones shook her awake, and gently told her that she had some of her schedule on her face. Alice went to the bathroom, and then to her physics class. They were watching a movie, and she sat down after giving the teacher her note. The movie was about stars and planets, breaking apart and moving around and they reminded her of something…

Of being in an air-conditioned planetarium.

The air was stale like a library, but also sweaty like the sea…

Alice in a flimsy white tank top with goosebumps on her arm. Seventies rock. A boy with sweaty hands.

This feeling…

Like anything might happen.

She wondered if this might be a memory, or something she read or saw once, and she soon fell asleep again. She woke up on her own this time, which was good. Alice didn't want to be known as that girl who sleeps in class. Her teacher gave her a review of things she needed to get caught up on, and she thanked him and left.

Francis was outside her class to lead her to the cafeteria.

"Mon dieu, you didn't say you were coming today!" He hugged her and lifted her backpack from her shoulder.

"It's fine, I can carry it myself."

"I want to," He insisted.

When they got to the table, a girl named Emma addressed her as 'brave' and 'different than usual'. Alice asked how, but Emma moved on, talking to others. She was freezing in the cafeteria, and she ended up leaving the chilly school luncheon and headed outside into where she hoped it was warmer. She found a greenhouse, and entered. What looked like an experiment was on the inside, with eight sunflowers. Seven were almost or mostly dead, but one was thriving.

She was still looking at it, wondering why it was surviving, when a familiar deep voice said, "You're shivering."

It was Gilbert. Alice decided not to turn around and look at him yet. She didn't want him to see how pleased she was to see him again, especially since he didn't visit her once.

"Maybe a little." Alice replied casually. "Is it cold in here? I have trouble telling."

"Not to me," Gilbert said, emerging from behind an orange tree with an unlit cigarette hanging from his lips. He placed the cigarette in his back pants pocket. "But that doesn't mean it isn't cold to you." He took off his jacket, which was black corduroy lined with a sheepskin collar, and handed it to her. "Here."

Alice put the jacket on. It smelled like cigarettes and paint. "You smoke?"

"Now and then. Mainly to keep myself out of worse trouble."

For additional warmth she slipped her hands into his jackets pockets. She could feel keys, a bottle of pills, a lighter, a pen, a few slips of paper.

"Suppose I should have cleared out my pockets before lending my jacket to a girl," he joked. "What's in there, anyway?"

She gave him her report.

"Nothing too controversial, right?"

'_Depends on what the pills are for'_, she thought. "Depends on what the keys are to," was her real answer.

He responded with his moms house, and his car, which was in the shop. The bell rang in the distance, and when she looked at the schedule she had written on her palm, the next class was visible, 'French III', but the numbers were long gone. She asked Gilbert, and he read her hand, before closing his own around hers. He offered to take her to her class.

She accepted.

It was hard to keep up with him in the hallways.


End file.
